The Lords of War and Thunder
by Graphed Vulgarity
Summary: Voldemort would regret ever laying a hand on the Potters. The surviving sons would make damn sure of that. AU. Harry/Fleur. OC/Hermione.
1. Setting the Stage

"_If I'd known then how much my life would change, I'd have changed my name and moved to Burma to farm sheep. Since I didn't, I'm here talking to you. Still not sure I made the right choice." _

* * *

Harry had been at Hogwarts all of a week and he knew it was going to be a bad year. Of course, if he was being honest with himself, he knew when Sirius had told him about some serious moving-and-shaking going on at the Ministry. By itself, the news was alarming. Coupled with the fact that the moving-and-shaking was directed at Hogwarts? Doomed. They were all doomed.

His leg hurt. He was tired. The sound of academic bickering- he refused to call what his fellow Ravenclaws did _debating_, it was far too irritating - was giving him a headache. And now this. This..._horribly bad idea _masquerading as an attempt at fostering international hospitality, cooperation, and all other kinds of right-on things. Harry looked at Dumbledore and wondered if he had finally gone completely mad. Would anyone have noticed?

"Harry!" Bertram Allen, his year mate and not-quite-friend, acquaintance fit him best, leaned across the table and hissed under Dumbledore's continued blathering. "Harry!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, evidently enough to qualify as a response for his excitable fellow seventh year, because he leaned further across the table – now in danger of getting custard stains all over his tie – with an almost frightening gleam in his eyes.

"Are you going to enter?" Bertram whispered. Harry shrugged. Up at the table Dumbledore concluded his speech and everyone started standing up and milling in the general direction of the doors. Why, he didn't know, he hadn't been paying attention, so he followed the leader and ended up with the rest of his house out in the winter cold, with the tantalizing warmth of Hogwarts behind him.

His leg ached considerably more now, so he palmed his wand and murmured a warming charm, almost but not quite stopping himself from sighing as the ache ceased. The anxiety and eagerness in the air was almost palpable, and Harry berated himself for letting Bertram distract him. Again.

_Mental Note: smack Bertram. _

"Miss Patil," Professor McGonagall's voice carried in the stuffiest of rooms, so on a clear night – which this was – he could hear each disapproving word as if he were three feet away. "Take that ridiculous thing out of your hair! Mister Weasley... fix yourself up!"

Harry had just about had enough with not knowing why they were making such an effort to look good and set about finding someone with some authority. He couldn't ask a prefect since he was one and the other was Alexis, his ex, and any conversation was to be avoided at all cost. So this left him, after a quick mental calculation, with exactly dick. All he knew was that there was a Triwizard Tournament happening here and they were outside.

And he was cold.

So he rubbed his fingers together and blew into them. He ignored the excited, utterly useless gossiping of his housemates, and he waited.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Something interesting was happening down by the lake, and he was anxious to see what would come of it.

* * *

"_Ben, that's Viktor Krum_!"

Ben, called Benjamin Charlus by his godfather, The Boy Who Lived by pretty much everyone, and Harry's Little Brother by people who were annoying, rubbed his shoulder and shot Ron an arch look. "Thanks, Ron," he grumped, "I really needed to get punched in the shoulder to see that."

"I don't understand what the fuss is about," Hermione sniffed, looking disdainfully at the knot of giggling girls that had appeared not long after Krum himself. "I mean, he's only a Quidditch player."

Ben winced and glanced at Ron. Luckily for everyone's peace of mind, the tall ginger was more interested in watching his idol walk to the school than listening to people. "Hermione," he said, "don't let anyone hear you say that. You could be tarred, feathered, and run from the school."

She rolled her eyes. "You've been saying that could happen for four years."

"_Because it_ _could!_" he insisted. Wizards were mad, everyone knew this. Hermione put her finger to her lips and nodded in Dumbledore's direction. Ben turned and saw that Durmstrang's headmaster had reached Hogwarts', and some sort of palaver was going on. He really wished he could hear what was being said, but the excited whispering of some fifty Gryffindors made it all but impossible.

"Why did you shush me?" he asked, turning back to Hermione. "No one can hear what's going on anyway."

"Because-"

Hermione was interrupted by him yelping in pain because yet again _someone_, who shall remain nameless(Ron), had punched his shoulder. He returned the punch and growled, "_Would you stop that?!_"

Ron was, yet again, no longer listening. Instead he was scrabbling through his pockets for a quill, which Ben thought was the least likely thing to happen in the history of ever. "Bugger," he said after his fruitless search. "Left my quills in my bag. Hermione! Lend us a quill?"

Hermione's eyebrow was somewhere near her hairline. The look on her face made skeptics look trusting. Ben was sure she was going to say something appropriate to that look, but disappointingly all she said was, "Are you serious?"

Ron blinked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ben looked at the two of them, then up at the heavens, wondering if Harry ever had problems like this over in Ravenclaw. They were supposed to be smarter and more mature than everyone else. Ron and Hermione started squabbling over what had led Ron to assume she would just _have _a quill handy.

"_I am not a bookworm!_"

Maturity and intelligence. Must be nice.

* * *

Viktor Krum didn't look like much. Not that Harry would _ever _say that out loud. He liked being alive. He still remembered the Gwenog Jones Incident from second year. People took their Quidditch seriously. So the fact that Krum looked like a particularly irate duck would just stay with him.

It still made him snicker.

"So that's Viktor Krum." said a voice to his left. Harry diverted his attention from the sports icon to the dark haired man who'd spoken to him; Roger Davies. Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Head Boy. UngodlySnorer. He also happened to be one of Harry's best friends. "I honestly thought he'd be shorter."

Harry's eyebrow rose. "Don't most people say taller?"

"I guess, but he's a Seeker." Roger said, as if that explained everything. Harry counted to ten in his head to stop himself adding a name to his list of People I Need to Hit with Something Possibly Sharp and Definitely Heavy.

"Pretend I don't know anything about Quidditch, Seeker-ism, or Viktor Krum." he said calmly. "And then please tell me what you're on about."

Roger's favorite thing to talk about was history. He _devoured _history; everything and anything he could get his hands on. History of Magic was his favorite subject and he had the best OWL score in fifty years. His _second _favorite discussion topic? Quidditch, as he proceeded to demonstrate.

"Seeker's job is to catch the Snitch before their opposite on the other team. The Snitch is fast, tiny, and incredibly maneuverable. What's more, the damn thing is enchanted to be annoying. Because of that, most Seekers tend to be like Ben; small, skinny gits with good eyes and better reflexes. They have to be, to keep up with the Snitch. Krum is none of those things. Well, I can't speak for his eyesight or reflexes, but look at him; he's an ox. So when you get someone like him with a record like his, it's surprising. People notice."

"So he's famous for not being like everyone else," Harry observed drily. "no wonder girls think he's the business."

As if to prove him smarter than he was, the previously and thankfully distant knot of giggling girls had contrived in their collective intelligence that maybe if they got closer to their object of worship he would fall in love with them and whisk them away to a life of romance and _stupendous _amounts of money. To that end Harry was shoved out of the way with an impressive amount of zeal and only remained standing by the grace of being caught by Roger.

"You may have a point." Roger conceded, helping him regain his footing. His leg protested the sudden wrenching loudly and with vigor. He clenched his jaw and tried to rub some of the pain away. It didn't work.

"Do you think he'd sign my bag with lipstick?"

He rolled his eyes and hoped no one from Beauxbatons would cause such a reaction. A hope that was dashed in seconds by Roger ever so helpfully piping in with, "So, apparently one of the students from Beauxbatons is a Veela."

"That," Harry said slowly, "is going to be a train wreck in very slow motion."

"Yeah, maybe." Roger mused, "Wonder if she'd throw a fireball at Flint if I asked."

"Why would she do that?"

Roger shrugged. "It's Flint. Why wouldn't she?"

* * *

Ben knew it was bad manners. He knew it was in poor taste. He knew that if he kept it up, there was a very good chance his best friend would never talk to him again. Despite this truly terrible knowledge, he_ could not _stop laughing at Ron. "So," he managed to get out between bouts of chuckling. "what's it like, being Minister of Magic?"

"_Shut up_." Ron growled. "It wasn't my fault! I couldn't stop myself!"

"No, you couldn't." he agreed. "Consider yourself lucky, though. Could have been _much _worse. I heard Malfoy tell her that he could go for six hours without a break."

Ron asked, "Do you mean like in the bathroom?"

Ben shot him a look. "_No_."

Hermione shuddered. "Christ. That poor girl. Couldn't she just...I don't know, stop it somehow? Can that even happen?"

Ron shrugged. Ben shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, Sirius dated a Veela for a few months and it never really came up, but if I had to guess... I'd go with no, they can't."

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged and spooned himself some mashed potatoes. "Would _you _leave it going if you could stop it?"

"Fair point," she conceded, before turning to look at the Ravenclaw table. "I wonder how she deals with it. Must be maddening."

"Or," Ben said, with a sideways look at Ron, "absolutely hysterical."

Ron sighed tiredly and took the platter of brisket as it was passed down the table. "Shut up, Ben."

* * *

In the moments leading up to her leaving the carriage that had brought them here, Fleur began to doubt; doubt that this was a good idea, doubt that she was worthy of being her school's champion. Doubt that she could handle the scrutiny of a entire country. Fleur doubted, and when she stepped and saw the castle looming above her and the bite of the cold Scotland October, she faltered.

"Are you okay?"

She looked to see the voice's owner, her friend Emilie, looking at her with concern. There was a brief moment where Fleur considered lying, to reassure her friend that her faith in her wasn't misplaced. It would be a wasted effort. She wasn't a very good liar. "Just nervous, Emmy."

Emilie nodded her understanding and looked out at the crowd of unfamiliar students. Fleur felt the weight of everyone's eyes on her and ignored them with the ease of long practice. There was a time when those looks – envy in the girls, lust in the boys – would have driven her to tears. That time was long gone, and now she barely noticed. She did hear her friend ask, "Why?"

"It's just all becoming real, I guess." Fleur looked through the Hogwarts students, briefly locking eyes with a handsome, green-eyed boy. "It's one thing to want to compete when I'm safe back home, but now I'm here and it's... it's sinking in."

"I understand." Emilie said, and of all the people who would tell her that, she knew that Emilie truly did. She understood Fleur in the way that only someone who had grown up with her could. "My advice? Don't freak out until you see Madame Maxime look worried."

Fleur smiled. "I'll do that."

"Good!" Emilie linked arms with her. "I hope they have something good at the feast. I'm _starving_!"

She laughed after her stomach grumbled. "So am I, it would seem. Lead the way!"

And so, drawing herself up and adopting a ridiculously aristocratic mien, Emilie did just that.

* * *

Harry watched the train wreck he'd predicted begin and wished that he'd been wrong. Not for his sake, or for his school's. Not even for her; the beautiful girl with ice blue eyes and white-blonde hair. Other than a slight furrow of her brows she showed no reaction to the sudden IQ plummet of the boys around her. No, he wished he was wrong because he'd wanted his last year at Hogwarts to be sane and quiet.

His eyes narrowed as he watched a group of boys rise from the Gryffindor table and start towards the Veela – he made a note to learn her name as soon as he could – with a glassy eyed expression that spelled trouble. He was halfway out of his seat when level(female) heads prevailed and dragged the boys back to their seats. He sat back down and checked his watch.

Less than an hour. Good _God_.

That desire for a quiet final year was dying and, when Headmaster Dumbledore rose with a welcoming smile, he felt it give a little gurgle and give up. He paid no attention to the muted whispers and listened to what the old wizard had to say.

"Before I begin," and Harry marveled at how the warm, pleasant baritone killed the chatter instantly. "I hope all of my students will join me in giving a warm welcome to our visiting schools; Beauxbatons Academy and the Durmstrang Institute!"

Harry dutifully clapped along with everyone else for a polite amount of time. Once it had died down, Dumbledore continued.

"And now, to business. You are by now all aware that this year our beloved school is playing host to the recently revived Triwizard Tournament. And, if you are anything like I was at your age, you have no doubt speculated to no end about every detail of this event." Sky blue eyes glittered with amusement. "Well, I fear that after tonight this particular strand of rumoring will be ended. After tonight, the Tournament will have well and truly begun!"

_That_, suffice to say, had everyone's undivided attention. Harry saw the caretaker; a grimy, hateful looking man called Filch, approaching the Head Table from the shadows, a large casket in his hands. He handed the casket over to Dumbledore and retreated to sulk somewhere near the Great Hall's doors.

Back at the Table, Dumbledore had opened the casket and removed a large, crudely carved goblet, inside of which flickered a merry handful of fire. He set it down with a showman's grace and his words echoed in the bone quiet Hall. "Some of you have wondered how the champions are to be chosen. Wonder no more. I present to you...the Goblet of Fire. Anyone wishing to enter their name for consideration should write it on a piece of paper and place it into the flames. In two weeks' time, the Goblet will choose."

Harry looked up and down Ravenclaw table and felt a mix of relief and worry. There was a good amount of anxious, almost greedy looks, but thankfully that was most prevalent among the people he felt had a chance of entering – and surviving – this thing. More worrisome was that same look's presence on many other, _younger _faces. Faces like Ron and Seamus and Dean.

This could be very, very bad. If these people, no matter their ambition or determination, entered the Tournament, _they would die_. It was that simple. He looked up at Dumbledore and prayed that the man had a better grasp on sanity, on _reality_, than he was rumored to. There a long, indecipherable moment where nothing was said, and nothing happened. Then Dumbledore held up his hands, and Harry sagged in relief.

"While I'm sure many of you would like to win the grand prize, several thousand galleons and an Order of Merlin, Third Class, the nature of the Tournament's tasks have led us – the Triwizard Committee – to establish an age cutoff, so to speak: no one, and I do mean no one, under the age of seventeen may enter."

There was a brief, spirited uproar of outrage, which died on the Headmaster's next words.

"This was done for your safety and that of our eventual champions. Seventeen was chosen as the age where you have reached a level in your magical education and maturity that would lead to your surviving this Tournament. Maybe even winning. Seeking glory is dancing on a knife's edge, after all. But enough warnings and talks of gloom! The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall for those who wish to enter. And without further ado...dessert! Enjoy."

Harry looked around and saw that most people didn't quite know what to make of Dumbledore's words. He looked and saw satisfaction on the old wizard's lined face and suspected he would have it no other way. Devious old goat. Then dessert appeared, and Harry decided that there were more important things like life or death tournaments. Things like red velvet cake.

* * *

When Fleur couldn't sleep, which wasn't as much a habit that recent times would suggest, she went for walks. Something about the simple act helped her put whatever was keeping her mind awake to bed, with her following shortly. Not this time. This time she walked Hogwarts' halls with its Headmaster's words in her head until she found herself in a garden – a garden that from the looks of it hadn't been visited for some time.

The garden itself occupied a balcony on what she was fairly certain was the fourth floor. The balcony had a series of iron arches starting from just outside the door to the very end of the balcony wall. Ivy crawled up and across these arches, in some places reaching across the gaps to twine together in a leafy canopy. Planters of flowers and rosebushes were broken by stone benches and small statues. The only source of light was the stars.

She smiled and titled her head back, feeling the serenity of the place wrap warm blankets around her. Then she wrapped herself tighter in the thick coat she'd brought and stepped further into the garden. Serenity didn't do much for body warmth. She picked the bench with the best view of the forest and folded her arms.

If she were honest with her self – and she always tried to be – she knew why she couldn't sleep. Professor Dumbledore's words were bouncing around the inside of her skull and resonating louder than she'd like. Doubts and anxiety were making themselves known, but they weren't overpowering.

Fleur snorted. Weren't overpowering? She'd be sleeping if that were the case. Truth was that the confidence she had in herself was starting to wane. Three months ago, when Madame Maxime had announced that an international competition was taking place, she had believed that she was the best person for the job. Now she was starting to wonder who that person was, because it most certainly hadn't been _her_.

Then, she was brought out of her thoughts by a quiet, surprised, "Oh."

* * *

Harry was surprised to find someone else in his favorite thinking spot that sometimes doubled as his favorite hiding spot. One would think it had also been his favorite snogging spot, but he'd never brought Alexis here. He'd never brought anyone here. Even Ben didn't know it existed. The little garden on a fourth floor balcony was his and his alone. Or so he he'd thought.

Most of his surprise stemmed from the fact that of all the people who would find this place, the one who eventually did wasn't even a Hogwarts student. He had limped up the path, not noticing the blue clad figure until he had almost tripped over her feet. She really was beautiful – more than anyone he'd ever seen. He remembered the icy blue of her eyes clearly. Her hair, almost white, hung to just down around her ears and was layered in such a way to frame her elegant, almost regal beauty.

She didn't see or hear him coming, but her eyes snapped up when a surprised, "Oh." escaped him. This close he could see her reaction to his presence better. Her body was set in a tense wariness, preparing to fight him off should her allure prove to be too much for him. "I...I didn't think anyone else knew about this place. How- how did you find it?"

_Smooth Harry. Real smooth._

He could still see the anxiety around her eyes and in her posture. "I didn't." she said, her voice low and melodious – throaty in an absolutely delicious way. "I was walking and it sort of...found me."

"Oh," he said, and really wished he'd think of something better. Then, because he had no other idea on what to say in this situation, he stuck out his hand and ignored the way she flinched. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

She watched his hand as if it were a rearing snake. Where was the confidence she'd shown in the Great Hall? The easy ignorance that she'd shown? It took him a shamefully long to twig to why. She was alone. With him. Far, far away from anyone who might help her should she need it.

Harry lowered his hand and took a step back. Her eyebrows raised. "I don't know how you do it," he said, turning to rest against the waist high wall that ran around the balcony's perimeter.

"Do what?" she asked, sounding reluctantly curious, almost despite herself. He shrugged and watched the castle's lights twinkle like land bound stars.

"Deal with guys turning into witless mongrels around you." he shot her a glance and saw her brows raising farther. "I couldn't handle it."

She rose gracefully and took a cautious step forward. "Isn't that every boy's dream? To have girls falling over themselves to please them?"

Harry snorted. "Please. It's bad enough just being Ben's brother. If I had a weird, magical sexy aura on top of that? I think I'd live in a cave." He saw her lips twitch upwards – just a fraction of an inch.

"I don't think I've ever heard it called that before," she said, amusement warming her voice.

"I've got a gift." he smiled briefly at her and she seemed to relax. "Oh, um...if you're worried about me becoming one of those mongrels, don't. So far as I know, it doesn't bother me. Or Ben, for that matter."

"How do you know?"

Harry shrugged artlessly. "My godfather dated a Veela over the summer. Her name was Etienne." She snorted, somehow making the sound elegant. "I take it you know her."

"My mother's cousin." she explained. "Your godfather must be incorrigible in just about every way."

"Yep," he nodded. "that sounds like Sirius." Then he figured, what the hell, he'd try again. Once more he held out his hand and said, "I didn't catch your name. Mine's Harry."

There was a single, drawn-out second before she took his hand. Her skin was smooth – damn near silky – and chilled from the October night. "Fleur," she said, shaking his hand. "Fleur Delacour."

* * *

When Harry Potter, the owner of those handsome green eyes she'd seen earlier, had limped up to her(why did he limp, anyway?), she'd been so shocked at his seeming resistance to her allure that her brain had taken a few moments to re-engage. After having spent so many years dealing with, as he'd put it, _drooling mongrels_, an actual conversation with an actual, living boy was just..._weird_.

For all of a few seconds, anyway. Then she'd remembered how to be a human and actually looked at the person who shared her little corner of Hogwarts. He was slender, and were it not for the fact he were dressed in muggle clothing and she could see the wiry definition in his muscles she'd call him skinny. He had a shaggy head of night black hair that in the starlight had a silvery sheen. Under that hair were those green eyes of his, wit and intellect in their depths.

His eyebrow raised and oh, she'd been staring, hadn't she? Her blush heated her skin and she looked down after offering an apologetic smile. "So," she said, after a moment. "what is this place?"

Harry broke eye contact with her and she felt a odd drop in her stomach. He looked up at the tangled ivy and blew out an expressive breath. "Don't know, really." his lips twisted sheepishly. "Found it in my fourth year when I was looking for a place to...get away. Three years and it hasn't changed a bit."

"It's beautiful," she agreed, seeing the peace the garden had steal over him. Until it was gone she hadn't noticed the tension in the lines of his face. "I can see why you come here."

He hummed an affirmation before asking, "What made you find it, if you don't mind my prying?"

Fleur smiled. "I could ask you the same."

"I'll swap you," he offered, "story for story."

Part of her rebelled at the idea of talking about her worries or insecurities with a boy she barely knew. It made the rational argument that she had no idea what kind of person he was. Then there was another part, the part that couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful he was. The starving idealist in her that asked, what could it hurt? Make a leap of faith.

"You don't have to if you don't want," he said, giving her a way out and in that moment, she decided.

"No, it's fine," she decided. "but you have to go first."

He smiled then; a true, amused smile, and she felt that same part of her stomach do a funny turn. "Fair enough." he said. "But don't blame me if you don't understand. Some of these are _old _worries."

She watched as Harry braced himself on the wall and looked out over the school. He had the look of someone gathering their thoughts and she gave him the silence he seemed to need. While he did she wondered what would make someone like Harry Potter stressed enough to forgo sleep. Was it for similar reasons to her? He didn't look like the sort to enjoy the furor of attention being a Triwizard champion would bring.

"I'm worried about Ben." he said at length. "Well...I'm _always_ worried about Ben, but after this year I won't be around to keep an eye on him. The way things have gone, there's a good chance that this year'll...go...weird – which I can deal with, because I'm here and I can help, you know? But after this year he'll be on his own and – and I won't be there to save him when he gets in trouble. The idea of him being here alone, without me to help him? It terrifies me."

Fleur drew her brows together. "Has his time here been that..._weird_?" This was a _school_, after all. Surely it was safer than the impression she was getting. The impression that was shaken when he snorted.

"You've no idea." some of her curiosity must have shown through, because that same tension returned and he said, "I'd...I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." it was with a morbid sort of interest that she watched him reach down to his leg before stopping himself halfway. "Mostly bad memories."

For a moment her surprise ruled her. He'd told her more than she had expected him to. More than she had planned to tell him. Now, to hold back would not only be rude but she just didn't want to. Maybe...maybe telling someone, even – no, _especially_ – a stranger would help. So Fleur took a deep breath and confessed, "I don't think I should be here."

Harry's brows furrowed. "In what way?"

"I wanted to be my school's champion when the Tournament was announced months ago. It seemed like such a good idea; I mean, how could it not? Excitement, adventure, travel, it had everything. That is, it did back then. Now..." she trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm not sure I'm the right person for this."

He was still and she waited for his disbelief that her paltry self-doubt was all that kept her awake. She was expecting him to say that in the face of his rightfully bigger problems, she should just grit her teeth and bear it. What she was not expecting was for him to take her shoulders in his hands and look into her eyes.

"My advice," he said, and she shivered at the look in his eyes. "totally unasked for and free to be ignored, is that you shouldn't let your fear prevent you from truly living."

"Have you?" she whispered, her breath misting the small gap between them. "Have you followed your own advice?"

Harry seemed to realize just how close they were and stepped back, rubbing his palms awkwardly and not meeting her gaze. "I uh, I try to, I think. But...it's always easier saying something than doing it, isn't it? I mean, I can _say_ that I do, but there are things that scare me that I don't have the courage to face. But if I can, I will."

Even though he didn't say it, and her respect for him rose when he didn't, she could see the question on his face. _And what about you? Are you going to face the thing that makes you afraid?_

"Then I shall as well," she declared, her words ringing in the crisp night air. "I'll enter my name tomorrow."

He smiled at her. "Good for you." he said warmly. "Now can we go inside? I can't feel my nose."

Fleur laughed. "Yes, let's. I think a cup of hot cocoa in the carriage will be perfect before bed."

"Why did you have to put that idea in my head? Now _I _want one."

"I don't see how this is a problem."

Harry held the door open for her and she preceded him inside with a grateful smile. "True enough," he conceded. She looked up, then down the unfamiliar hall and remembered that she was very much lost. "Lost?" She nodded and he grinned. "The castle toys with us, I think. Um...best way back is to head that way," he pointed down the hall. "until you reach a statue of a troll in a tutu – don't ask, I don't know – and turn left. Follow that to the stairs and they'll take you all the way down to the Entrance Hall."

"Thank you," she said, and started away before a hand on her elbow stopped her. She turned to see Harry looking into her with those green eyes. "What is it?" she asked. "Is there a trick stair, or something?"

"No. Well, yes, it's the fifth one down on every flight, but that's -" he stopped, visibly wrestling with something. "it's – never mind. Just...good night, Fleur. And...and good luck."

And before she could begin to sort out what he'd said, he was gone; ducking behind a tapestry and vanishing before the cloth stopped rustling against the wall. She followed his directions and reached the stairs shortly. As she headed down she turned Harry's words over, chewing on them. He'd made a great deal of sense, right up until the end. It was only until later, when she was curled in an armchair with a steaming mug of cocoa that she realized he was probably about to ask her out before stopping himself.

It was truly remarkable how divided that made her feel. Part of her – a very large part, in fact – reveled in the true, earnest attentions of a boy. Another wanted to focus entirely on the Tournament, on surviving and bringing glory to herself and her school. A further third part of her; the wary, cautious protector she'd created, didn't want him anywhere near her. The clock tick-tick-ticked its way toward two in the morning and the dregs of her cocoa were congealing in the bottom of her mug.

Fleur stared at the embers in the fireplace and felt her fatigue catch up with her. It put her worries aside and wrapped her sharp anxieties in blankets so their edges wouldn't cut her and keep her awake. It dragged her weary body up to her room and into her pajamas. She slid into bed and closed her eyes and just before she fell asleep, a fraction of image darted through her thoughts; an image of bright green eyes smiling at her from the dark.

* * *

Harry sat in his chair – and yes, it was his, even though it was in the common room – and did his best to figure out what he had just done. Or rather, what he had almost done. Because what he had almost done was ask out Fleur Delacour. A Veela, though that wasn't the bothersome part. Where she was a girl he barely knew and yet was _immensely _attracted to, _there _was the bother. He didn't do that, not as a rule. It just wasn't something he was good at, or capable of.

To put it bluntly, he was shy. Anyone who knew about his upbringing would understand. But nobody did. It was his closest kept secret. He was just the shy brother of the Boy Who Lived and he liked it that way. It was easier to do things when nobody was looking at you. But he was getting away from the point; what was keeping him awake. He barely knew Fleur, the first conversation he'd ever had with her was still drying in his mind. Their history was hours long, _maybe_.

But there was a part of him, the part that the Dursley's their best to destroy with neglect bordering on abuse, that reached out to her. That was more comfortable with her than he'd ever been with Alexis. It was more than a little unnerving, and he had no idea what to do. Hence the sleeplessness. At least he was alone to think. With the night owl-ish-ness of Ravenclaw in general it wasn't odd to see people up until two charting the stars or something. Tonight was a rarity, and he was all the more appreciative of it.

"Can't sleep?" asked a familiar, feminine voice. He turned to see the devil herself standing by his chair, firelight reflecting off the honey brown curls that hung to her shoulder blades. Alexis' hair matched her eyes, and they focused on his with something approaching affection. Which was more unnerving than his blooming attraction to Fleur, but it was at least from an area he could deal with.

"I wasn't aware we were speaking again." he said instead of answer, returning to his original position before the fire. He felt her come to rest on the arm of his chair and then felt her fingers card through his hair like she used to and _what the_ _hell was going on? _Where had all this come from? "Last time I saw you," he continued, leaning away from her. "you told me never to talk to you again. So...what are you doing?"

She sighed and came around to sit on the footstool in front of him, a silhouette lined in glowing orange light. He watched her without saying another word. Whatever she was doing, he wasn't going to help her in any way. After a long minute she said, "I...I wanted to apologize."

He did a mental double take. "What?"

"You and me are done," she looked down at her lap and then back up at him. "and I get that, really. But...when we broke up, the things I said, they weren't fair. Or nice. And I really wish I could take them back, but I can't. So...I'm sorry."

Harry stared at Alexis for a long minute before blinking slowly. He watched agitation grow in her.

"Well? Aren't you going to say something?" she asked, and jolted him back into conscious thought.

"Sorry, I'm just in shock that this conversation is actually happening." he smiled a little, enough to calm her down, because he still liked her, even though there was pain between them. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and let out a long, slow breath. "I don't know what you want me to say. Do I forgive you? No, not yet."

"But-"

"You told me that I'd have been better off dying with my parents than living second rate to Ben." he said flatly.

"Okay," her voice was soft. "I get that. But, maybe one day, we could be friends again?"

He looked through her to the fire beyond, through it out into the air without really seeing any of it. He chewed on his lip and the idea and in the back of his mind wondered if this day could get any weirder before he finally said, "I don't miss dating you, Lex, but... I miss my friend."

Alexis grinned widely before rising and squeezing his shoulder. Harry didn't watch her leave, but he was keenly aware of her absence just as much as he had been aware of her presence. Not long after she left, he went to bed before Dumbledore could swoop in and turn him into a credenza.

As he made his way up the stairs he put what had just happened away until he could think it through. Right then he was tired and tense and confused and none of it was helping. His ever-present worries for Ben were running deep, content to remain underneath having been aired. His confusion about what had just happened had mixed with with earlier, stronger confusion about his conversation with Fleur and it was all of it subservient to a strong, slow-burning attraction to her that he didn't know what to do with.

He was conflicted as he fell asleep, but one thing was clear in his mind. It was the image of a elegant face in a white-blonde frame illuminated by starlight, and it was the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep.

* * *

Ben had a secret. It was a secret of such magnitude that, if anyone were to find it out, he would have to change his name, face, hair, eyes, personality. _Gender_, even. Then he would have to flee the country or maybe the planet. It was that big a secret. In fact, it wasn't a secret. It was a Secret, and he kept it very deep inside where no one stood a chance of finding it.

That being said, when Hermione came up to him in the common room with uncertainty in her eyes and murmured, "Can I talk to you?", he felt his heart skip a beat. A clammy sweat broke out on his palms. He nodded dumbly and let her lead him to a pair of armchairs furthest from the fire.

He was barely aware of himself sitting down and was frankly stunned at the levelness of his voice. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Hermione wrung her hands and looked down. She worried her lip and he felt a strange surge of warmth in his stomach at the sight. Then she looked up and said, "I'm worried about Ron." and sent a chunk of ice into the warmth. The sweat on his palms dried instantly and he was calm. A bit disgruntled, but calm.

"Why? What's he done this time?"

It was no secret that Ron and Hermione had a...well, he didn't know what to call it. P_assionate_ implied romance, and there wasn't any – or so Ben hoped – and _vitriolic_ hinted at a dislike that wasn't present. Truth was that the two of them argued all the time and enjoyed it. He didn't have a word for that. To Ben's dismay the worry spread from her lip to her face. "Nothing. Yet. Though I think that it's only a matter of time before _she _makes him do something stupid."

"She in this case being..."

"The Veela. And...I know it's not her fault, and I don't blame her, really! But...I think if we sort of ran interference between her and Ron, then maybe – then maybe he won't stare at her all the time." There was a mix of envy and anger and hurt on Hermione's face, and the Secret he kept buried so deep wiggled a few layers up. He forced it back down, hard.

"Why- why would that bother you?"

She snorted in disgust. "Dumb. Boys are dumb."

"What?"

Hermione threw up her hands. "I give up! Never mind, Ben. I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning."

She stood and left, climbing the staircase to the girl's dorm and leaving Ben sitting there wondering what in the hell had just happened. Since he wasn't stupid – and was aware of this – he set about trying to figure it out. He approached it like the detectives in the mystery books Harry liked so much: lay out the facts and draw conclusions.

Fact: Hermione was worried about Ron acting stupid around the Veela.

Fact: She wanted his help in keeping Ron from doing that.

Fact: When he'd asked her why, she'd gotten annoyed at his boy-ness. Something she only did when she was frustrated or embarrassed. Or hurt.

Now, add it all up, and what did he get?

His stomach sank. There was really only one possible conclusion with the facts he had and with what he knew of Hermione, Ron, and himself. The knowledge put a chunk of lead in his stomach and he headed up to bed, changing into his pajamas and doing all the things people who weren't in love with their best friend – who apparently had a crush on their _other _best friend – did before bed.

Ben looked up at the canopy above his bed. His roommates were, in complete defiance of his inner turmoil, having a spirited discussion on the various merits and drawbacks of the girls from each of their visiting schools.

"No, mate!" Ron gesticulated wildly, nearly knocking Dean off his bed. "I'm telling you, there's no topping a Veela. They...there just isn't!"

"I dunno." Neville's disagreement was tentative, quiet, like the boy himself. "I think Durmstrang might surprise you." he squirmed uncomfortably as everyone's eyes rested on him. "Well, think about it! We never _really _saw what any of them looked like under their robes. For all we know there could be a girl better looking than the Veela."

"Does anyone actually know her name?" Dean asked.

Ron shrugged. "Nope." Then, to Neville, he said, "You _might _be onto something, but I doubt it. I mean, there's pretty, and then there's a _Veela_." He sighed wistfully. "It's a shame none of us can get near her without turning into morons."

Ben had a quiet smile at that. He was of half a mind to sit up and add his opinion(that they should either go away or go to sleep) when Seamus Finnegan the Chronically Ill – his unofficial title – stuck his head out of his curtains. The Irish boy's yearly cold had hit him hard; his nose was red and his eyes had bags underneath them. There was, however, nothing wrong with his voice, as he proceeded to demonstrate.

"SHUT THE FECK UP!"

And that, as they say, was that.

* * *

**Note: Hi! I'm back. I'd give you the outline I set up for the three years we skipped but honestly, I can't be bothered. You'll just have to trust that I know what I'm doing and enjoy the ride. Which is what you should be doing anyway. So...do it, already.**


	2. Curtains Up

"_[When asked to talk about his brother's relationship.] No." _

* * *

_Come on, Fleur. Gut up._

Her inner voice was insistent and frankly, a little tired of Fleur's waffling. She couldn't blame it, really. She'd been standing in front of the Goblet, name-bearing scrap of parchment in hand, for a good ten minutes now. It was starting to cause a bit of a scene – that is, more than she usually caused. She blew out a breath. This was getting ridiculous. Quickly, and before she could stop herself, she reached up and dropped her name into the flames.

And that was that.

She turned around and saw that she'd had an audience. Not only from Hogwarts, but the other schools as well. Their looks were a mix of congratulatory(hers), or scrutinizing(everyone else). And just for good measure, there was also a healthy amount of glassy eyed lust. Just to let them know how much they affected her she lifted her nose, turned her back on them, and went into the Great Hall to eat whatever the English considered to be breakfast.

She didn't have high hopes for the meal, but it was better than being looked at like she was one. If only just. As she made her way up the Ravenclaw table she gave the dishes passing glances and felt her hopes sink with each one. Bacon, toast, _porridge_, scrambled eggs, sausage and mashed potatoes. She _knew _her stomach would protest the weight of the food, but she didn't have much choice.

"Good morning!" Emilie waved from a seat three down from the table's end. Fleur smiled back and her friend patted the seat next to her. "Come on, sit down!"

"Morning Emmy," Fleur sat and poured herself an orange juice, enjoying the citrus tang on her tongue. "is there anything good?" She laughed as Emilie made a face. "I'll take that as a no, then."

"It's not _bad_," she said, gesturing with her fork. "the sausages are rather good and the eggs aren't overly cooked, but it's too _heavy _for this early in the morning."

Fleur's stomach made its agreement known. She ignored it and gave herself helpings of both before digging in. The sausages were savory, the eggs fluffy, and she could almost convince herself she was back home for a moment. Until-

"Did you do it?"

Her eyebrow rose as she looked at Emilie's curious, excited face. "What?" Realization dawned a moment later. "Oh, that. Yes, I did."

A wide, happy smile started on her friend's lips, waiting for the signal to bloom into life. "Did you really? You aren't teasing me, are you? I might die if you're teasing me."

Fleur smiled and shook her head. "No teasing. I really did it. You are looking at a potential Beauxbatons champion!"

That was the signal Emilie's smile needed and it damn near lit up their corner of the Hall. She gave a happy squeal and engulfed Fleur in a hug that almost dislocated a shoulder. "Oh, I'm so _proud _of you, Fleur! I knew you could do it! This is so amazing; you'll be chosen, no doubt, and then you'll win and have all that money and fame and this is so amazing!"

The only thing she could think of to say in the face of all this enthusiasm was, "You said 'amazing' twice."

Emilie nodded. "It's _that_ amazing. Really." she tried to stop smiling and failed. "I'm so...gah, I can't even say it!"

Fleur hugged her friend and wondered how she got so lucky. "Thank you, Emmy."

"You're welcome." Emilie leaned back and wiped at her eyes. "I'm not crying, shut up."

"I wasn't going to say anything," she protested. "But I am now. Are you-"

"Ah buh buh buh!" Emilie wagged a finger under Fleur's nose, forcing her to go cross eyed to spot it. "Not. A. Word."

Fleur mimed zipping her lips and burst into laughter. After a moment's attempt at an indignant look – which failed miserably – Emilie joined her. That was how breakfast went for her; heavy food, teasing, and laughter. It was nice. She wasn't sure how long it would last.

* * *

Ben had a favorite spot on the grounds. He was pretty sure no one else knew about it – he'd never seen anyone there. Hogwarts' lake wasn't completely round. It had a number of thin outlets, one of which curled into a fist shaped pool surrounded by large, flat rocks. His favorite seat was a boulder that somehow had a scoop taken out of it, worn smooth by rain and time. On a sunny day he could curl into the bottom of it surrounded by warm stone and forget about everything for a few hours.

He had only ever come there for that purpose, and that day he was there because of Malfoy. He and Ben had been sworn enemies from day one, for reasons that weren't immediately clear to anyone. He knew how it had started: Malfoy was proud, and Ben's rejection had stung deeply. But from there...it had grown into something greater. Something stronger than it should.

Maybe that was why he'd said and done the things he had. Until now, Ben had been willing to let it slide off him. He'd taken a not insignificant amount of pride in the fact that he had never once retaliated to one of Malfoy's taunts. Of course, Malfoy had never mentioned his mother before. He rubbed his knuckles, feeling the rough scabs under the pads of his fingers, and took a small amount of satisfaction from knowing that it wouldn't happen again. Malfoy may be an idiot, but pain was an excellent motivator.

Ben would know. Vernon had made sure of that.

"Ben?"

_Not her_, he prayed, _not here, not now._ He turned slowly, dreading to confirm what he already knew; that his secret hideaway wasn't entirely secret. Standing there with worry on her face and a bandage on her hand was Hermione, and he didn't want her to be here. He didn't think he could keep his Secret. Not here. Not now.

"How did you find me?" he asked, pulling his legs up. Hermione took an uncertain step. A breeze tugged at her mane of curls that had only this year started to tame.

"I've always known where you go," she said softly. "I just figured you needed the privacy."

"I did," he spoke into his knees. Somehow, she heard him, and stepped closer. "I do." She stopped, face falling.

"Oh," hurt flashed in her eyes and he felt like an utter ass for putting it there, even though he hadn't. "I'll just...leave you to it, then."

Hermione started to leave and suddenly he didn't want to be alone anymore. "No, wait!" she stopped, but didn't turn around. "I...you don't have to go, but I can't – I can't promise I'll say much of anything."

"That's okay," when she turned he saw sympathy and something else, something that almost had him telling her. "I don't really feel like talking anyway."

Ben held out a hand, which she took to boost herself up next to him. True to her word she settled in next to him and offered him a quiet comfort; her presence, pressed up against his shoulder. She didn't say anything. At that point, he figured there wasn't much else that needed saying.

So he sat with her, and she with him. Until the sun stood tall and their stomachs set to grumbling. Then Hermione stood and offered Ben her hand. He took it and she hauled him to his feet, then led the way back to the castle. She didn't say a word, and she didn't let go of his hand until they reached the Great Hall.

* * *

Harry had been having a good morning. He'd been enjoying breakfast in the Great Hall and ignoring the people around him as they either gossiped about the Tournament or worried about not doing enough for their homework. Not exactly scintillating conversation, and he wasn't in the mood to talk, anyway. His dreams had been trouble in one way or another, giving him an uneasy sleep that left him feeling as if he'd slept half the time. And then, as he was leaving, he heard a cultured, refined voice say something that put ice in his veins.

"It's a good job," Draco Malfoy said, grinning widely at his own brilliance. "that the Dark Lord killed your whore mother before she could –"

Malfoy was interrupted at that point by Ben tackling him to the ground and trying to beat the stupid out of him. The group of students that had gathered around to watch Malfoy taunt his brother were now shouting at each other and the boys on the ground. Their voices blended into a cacophony of uselessness that made getting anything done impossible.

That is, until Hermione Granger drew her wand and knocked Ben off of Malfoy with a Banishing charm she wasn't supposed to learn until next semester. When he stood Harry winced at the look of horror and shame on his brother's face. He knew what losing his temper would do to Ben, and sure enough the Boy Who Lived turned and ran out into the grounds, vanishing from sight quickly.

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione chased after him, leaving Harry to clean up the mess. The cacophony of uselessness still remained, and unless he fancied shouting himself hoarse(which he didn't), he'd have to use magic to get their attention. So he did. Harry touched the tip of his wand to his throat, murmured, "_Sonorus_," and then shouted, "**OY! SHUT IT!**"

Silence fell, and the sounds of Malfoy's pained groans were finally heard. The students made way for him as he approached, and when he saw the mess Ben had made of the other boy's face he hissed. He crouched next to Malfoy and quickly came to the assessment that he wasn't going to be good for anything for a while. "You, and you." he pointed at two burly looking boys that weren't Crabbe or Goyle(probably). "Get him to the Hospital Wing."

Neither boy moved.

"_Now!_"

They jumped and got to it, leaving Harry to disperse the crowd with an annoyed, "You've got classes to go to, right? They don't meet here! Scram!" They scrammed, flowing around the approaching Professor McGonagall like a river parting for an obdurate stone.

"Mister Potter," she said, anger and exasperation in every word. "what have they done now?"

Harry sighed through his nose and rubbed his forehead. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said nothing happened?"

Her eyes flashed and her lips thinned. "No, I would not."

"Oh. Well. Nothing happened."

He ended up receiving the berating on Ben's behalf. And he'd been having _such_ a good morning.

* * *

After that his day didn't get any better. Nor did it get any worse. Instead it floated around 'Vaguely Ruined' as he drifted from class to class with his peers like fish in a school. The classes themselves were the same: Transfiguration was hard, Charms entertaining, and Potions a polite form of torture. He didn't really remember what went on in Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts gave him a headache.

Business as usual.

He spent his free period that day – his last scheduled class – sitting on the steps in the Entrance Hall watching the people around the Goblet of Fire. To his surprise there weren't a lot of people putting their names in. _Discussion _ about entering, sure. There was a lot of that. But in the hour or so he sat there, butt becoming progressively numb, only about four people from each school entered. Which was odd, given the looks he'd seen on people's faces when the Tournament was announced.

Maybe sleeping on it had led people to believe that yes, potential death isn't an equal trade-in for eternal glory. As he understood it, glory was difficult to enjoy from the afterlife. No matter the reason for their sudden return to logic, he was grateful that they had. His lips quirked at the sight of a little third year giving the runic line around the Goblet a wide berth. Clearly she had paid heed to the warning it implied.

Then he saw two people who were genetically incapable of listening to such a warning: Fred and George Weasley. They were identical in every way and had the scheming, mischievous looks of someone about to get themselves into a whole mess of trouble.

"You think the Aging Potion'll do the trick?" one asked the other. Harry couldn't tell them apart, so he didn't try. The other shrugged.

"Maybe. Don't see why not. 'Sides, if it doesn't, it's not like Dumbledore'll do anything to hurt us."

"True, true," Twin A conceded, before grinning broadly and producing a messily folded scrap of parchment from his robes. Twin B copied actions and they stepped over the Age Line with a flourish.

For an entire second, nothing happened. Then everything happened at once. The Weasley twins howled with glee. The air sizzled like rashers of bacon on a frying pan. The Line lit up like a Christmas Tree. Harry smelled ozone, a sure sign of magical discharge. Then the Weasley twins were seized 'round the middle by an invisible force – maybe a lasso – and yanked out of the circle. All of this paled in comparison to the fact that,when they rose, they saw that they had gained something from the experience.

Beards. Magnificent, bushy, tuck it into your belt so you don't trip over it beards. The ever present crowd of students found this hysterical, none more so than the twins themselves, who leaned on each other as they left the Entrance Hall, alternately laughing and tugging on the other's beard.

Harry laughed quietly. His stomach grumbled, alerting him to the fact that he'd never actually had breakfast and should eat before he passed out probably. Maybe. With that in mind he headed to the Great Hall. And because it was That Kind of day, he never made it. Because he saw Ben and Hermione walking hand in hand back into the castle, and that quite naturally made him stop in his tracks.

As he approached Hermione gently disengaged her hand from his brother's, and gave him a look that he seemed to understand. Not for the first time he had thoughts of them fancying each other. And not for the first time he had thoughts of how the Dursley's had damaged the both of them. "We need to talk," he told Ben, who nodded and turned to the girl next to him.

"I'll meet you inside." he said. She didn't move, hesitation and worry written on her face. "Really, I'll only be a few minutes. Right?" the last was directed to Harry, who nodded.

"Professor McGonagall wanted me to pass on a message," he told her, and her worry lessened at the mention of her favorite teacher.

"Okay," she gave Ben the kind of smile Alexis used to give him – a smile that was both a promise and a question. He watched Ben respond in kind. "I'll save you a seat. Don't take too long, Ron'll start chewing on the table if you make him wait."

Hermione headed into the Hall, the brothers Potter watching her go in silence. Harry liked her, and had done so ever since the incident with the troll in Ben's first year. She'd been a quiet, bushy haired girl with a near-obsessive desire for knowledge and had since mellowed into a warm, young woman.

Ben didn't choose poor friends.

"Remind me to tease you about her later," he said to his brother.

"'Kay. Wait, no, why would I do that?"

"Because it's my duty as an older brother." Harry smiled, before sobering. "You broke Malfoy's jaw, Ben."

Ben seemed to deflate; shoulders sagging, head drooping, eyes downcast. "I know," he said quietly. "but you heard what he said about mum. I couldn't let that go."

"But you should have," Harry pressed. "you lost your temper, and I get that. But...you can't just around breaking his jaw he says something stupid."

"So, what?" Ben challenged, sparking defiance and righteous anger. "I should have just let him drag her name through the mud after she _died for us_?"

"No. He needed to be taught a lesson, and you did that. That I don't have a problem with. The problem is that everyone saw you do it. _Professor McGonagall _saw you do it. She took fifty points and gave you detention for the week. Actions have consequences, Ben. I need to know that you know that."

"I do," Ben said quietly. "believe me, I do. Are we done? I promised Hermione."

"Yeah," Harry watched his brother put the event behind him, keeping the lessons he'd learned and leaving the emotions behind. It was a lesson that surviving their childhoods had taught them. It may not have been healthy, but it kept them sane. "yeah, we're done."

He watched Ben leave and wished he could have done more to protect him from their aunt and uncle. Ever since he could remember he'd thrown himself between the worst the Dursley's would do and his younger brother. When Vernon got drunk and started blaming the pair of them for every downturn his life had ever taken, Harry had been there; drawing the punches and thrown objects. Bruises and tears and bloody wounds for seventeen years, and he wouldn't change a thing.

Suddenly he wasn't hungry. What he wanted was to find a place to hide for a while to bring himself back to normal. He left the Entrance Hall, and headed for a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor corridor. A few hours alone would do him good. The Room of Requirement was remote enough that he wouldn't be found until he was damn well good and ready.

* * *

Fleur didn't see Harry at lunch. And yes, she'd been looking. She wouldn't ever admit it, but she'd kept an eye out while she chatted her way through the meal. With a surprising amount of stealth. Or so she liked so think. The sly look Emilie gave her told her that stealth, like lying, wasn't one of her strong suits.

So she wasn't going to be stealthy anymore. He intrigued her, and she wasn't going to hide it. From her friends. Harry was a different story. The idea that he might, _might _like her the way she was starting to think she liked him sent tingles through her limbs and made her cheeks warm. So telling him would probably lead to her making a fool of herself and since when had that mattered?

Life had been so much simpler when she hadn't had to bother with this sort of thing. No, wait. She was _not _nostalgic for the days of boys being, and she quoted, _witless mongrels_. There was no way that a sane Veela – which she considered herself – would miss those days. When she put this in a letter to her mother two days later, she would have no idea the hilarity it would cause her parents.

Fleur's stomach grumbled. Food beckoned. There was nothing in the carriage for them to eat. There was barely enough room for all forty students to sleep. Space expansion charms could only do so much. A room full of beds for the boys and a separate one for the girls had been the best Beauxbatons could do.

So she would have to go into Hogwarts. Where the mongrels would be. Decisions, decisions. Her stomach growled, letting her know that in no uncertain terms that she was to go into that castle, brave the terrible danger, and _eat something_. After finding a thick cloak that might not be hers, she set out to do just that.

Stepping out of the cottage into a Scottish winter was like being punched in the stomach. Fleur was not frail, nor did she have anything in particular against the cold. Or so she'd thought prior to coming to the part of the Arctic Circle called Scotland. Winters in France were cold, but as she'd discovered in the day and a half she'd been at Hogwarts: there was cold, and then there was _cold_.

This was the latter. And she _did not like it_.

So she ran. All the way from the Beauxbatons carriage to the Entrance Hall. Of course, arriving shivering, sweaty(somehow) and red faced didn't make for a great first impression. So it was a good job they were onto second impressions, wasn't it? Fleur took a deep breath and tried to make herself presentable. _More _presentable. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. Much. After a brief look around she grinned happily to herself. At least she wouldn't have to deal with any –

"I've invented a new stamina potion! Want to help me test it?"

Never mind. She turned slowly. Standing at the foot of the stairs were three people. The first was gangly red-headed boy with too many freckles and an expression of deep embarrassment. He was also rubbing his shin with his foot. The second was a girl with bushy, cinammon colored hair and an expression of equal annoyance. The third person made her blink.

He looked in almost every way to be a twin of Harry Potter. The same facial structure was there, as was the way he held himself; quiet, calm, confidence in the set of his shoulders and grace of his stride. It was in the eyes they differed. Harry had bright green eyes – a pair that had haunted her dreams last night. This boy had brown eyes, and short, auburn hair. "Sorry about that," he said, smiling crookedly at her and heading towards her, holding out his hand. "his foot has a mind of its own, wanders into his mouth on occasion."

Fleur smiled and took his hand. "It's quite alright," she addressed her comment to the still blushing red-head. "I'm used to it."

"Still," Harry's brother – what was his name? Ben. It was Ben. – released her hand. "doesn't mean you should deal with it when it's so easily stopped. At least with him. Have we met?"

"No," she said, "though your brother mentioned you."

For some reason, this surprised the three of them. They exchanged significant looks between them, the meanings of which she couldn't begin to guess. "You've met Harry?"

"Yes," Fleur frowned, puzzled. "is there something wrong?"

"Hm? No!" Ben smiled again. "It's just odd. He isn't what you'd call a social butterfly. He must like you."

Her cheeks burned. Was she blushing? She better not be blushing. The girl next to Ben frowned. Yep, she was blushing. "Who are your friends?" she asked, blatantly changing the subject. Ben didn't seem to mind, chuckling before turning first to the boy, then the girl.

"This is Ron," The red-headed boy gave her a sheepish wave, which she smiled in return to. "and that's Hermione." The bushy haired girl shook her hand – businesslike and impersonal.

"It's good to meet you both." she said, and her stomach gave a regrettably audible rumble. Her blush returned twofold and she looked sheepishly at them. "As you can see, I'm a bit famished, so if you'll excuse me."

"Of course. It was good to meet you. I'll tell Harry we met. He'll be thrilled." Ben said. She smiled one last time at the trio and entered the Great Hall, the tantalizing scents of a variety of well-cooked foods coming to her and driving all – well, most – thoughts of confusing brothers from her mind. She spotted Emilie sitting next to a pretty, Asian Ravenclaw and waved. Emilie waved back and gestured the empty seat next to her.

Fleur nodded and scanned the Ravenclaw table quickly, confirming that yes, Harry wasthere.

"You got it bad," Emilie told her as she sat. Fleur very maturely stuck out her tongue and filled her plate.

* * *

Ben knew he wasn't affected by a Veela's allure. That didn't stop him from watching her walk into the Great Hall. He didn't have the glazed look Ron – bless him – couldn't seem to keep off his face, but he still couldn't seem to look away. Partly because she was extraordinarily beautiful, but mostly because she knew Harry. That roused a strong protectiveness in him.

Harry was strong. He'd had to be, with the life they had. Pain, stress, worry, anxiety, these his brother could handle. Their...misadventures over the past three years, those he and Harry could handle. But a girl? Opening that part of them that they'd closed to survive the Dursleys and letting someone in?

When Alexis broke up with him, Harry didn't talk to anyone for a month. Not even to him. He watched his brother retreat into himself and it scared him. Ben didn't like the idea of another person being able to do that to Harry. It made him watchful of Fleur, and of the interest she very clearly had in his older brother.

"Well," Hermione gave Ron a distasteful look. "that was...interesting."

Ron, impressively, looked both ashamed and defiant. "Hey, I shook it off, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Ben tore himself from his thoughts. "and only after saying one stupid thing. _Very _proud of you."

"Shut up, Ben." Ron said, before something visibly occurred to him. "Hey, how is it she knows Harry?"

At the change of subject Hermione managed to throw off her disappointment in...well, Ron, and focus an impressive amount of suspicion on Fleur. "It is rather odd," she agreed. "and...I can't help but wonder if she has an ulterior motive."

The comment was utterly Hermione that Ben had to smile. Ever since their first year she'd become very protective of his older brother, which he appreciated. Part of of the reason he...part of the reason he had his Secret. "You wonder that about everyone interested in him."

She raised an eyebrow at him and said, "Pansy Parkinson, Penelope Clearwater, _Alexis Roberts_, Alicia Spinnet, –"

"Alright, alright! You've made your point. No need to rub it in."

Hermione grinned triumphantly.

Ron's stomach grumbled, which prompted him to gripe, "Look, you two, as fascinating as this _is, _do you think we could get inside before the food disappears?"

Ben laughed. "Course, mate. What were we thinking?"

" 'I like depriving my best mate of food.' "

"Yes, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's it exactly."

"It's a conspiracy," Ben agreed, coming to stand next to his increasingly irritated-looking friend. "see, by keeping you from eating, we're hoping to stunt your growth and ultimately keep the Cannons from ever winning a single game!"

"You're a riot, Potter." Ron growled. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, okay."

* * *

Harry's stomach howled. Angrily. Emotional turmoil was all well and good, but after skipping two thirds of the day's meals even that stepped aside in the face of maybe having something to eat today. The Room of Requirement was good for a lot of things. It could do beds, it could do chamberpots, or a room full of junk. It could even, if one were clever enough, provide a passage between it and a small anteroom to the Great Hall.

He pushed open the door the Room had created and stepped into that small anteroom, going through that into the Great Hall and sneaking to his seat. His hope was that by doing this he wouldn't get spotted by virtually everyone. He'd missed the start of dinner, and the Hall was sure to be crowded.

His plan relied entirely on the idea that his luck would improve.

So naturally, at least a dozen people saw him sneaking into his seat. Including the girl who – had circumstance and rubbish luck not prevented him – he would have thought about on and off for most of the day. To her credit, Fleur only smiled, eyes dancing. Amusement looked good on her. Although, he suspected that anything up to and including intense nausea would look good on her.

"Harry," Roger greeted him as he sat, to which he nodded and tried to hide how his eyes kept flicking down the table. A task at which he failed. "how is it, and I mean no disrespect, that the surliest git _in Hogwarts_ manages to catch the eye of the fittest bird in the history of oh, _ever_?"

Harry shrugged. "Animal magnetism."

Roger snorted. "You liar."

"Fine," he took a roll and buttered it. "I ran into her last night. We talked."

"_Ooh_," Roger sang. "_Gossip!_"

Harry gave his friend a Look over his dinner roll. "Don't make me kill you."

Roger pouted. Harry grinned. Then took a large bite out of the roll and left it in his mouth to better hold the wide bowl of mashed potatoes that came his way. At some level he was aware of someone's eyes on him, but the larger facet of his attention was pointed directly at Food. But since he was clearly aware of whose eyes were on him, he kept his manners. If only just.

After dinner came dessert. And after that came the announcements, which were usually uninteresting repetitions of the start of terms announcements with some daily flavor added in. Today, though, Harry knew that something was different from the moment Dumbledore took the podium.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," the old wizard started the announcements the same way he had for the past seven years. "there are only a few notices that I have for tonight. First of which is that the Selection of Champions will take place in one week's time, after dinner. In addition to that,the ability to enter one's name will be removed three days before that." Dumbledore ran long, wrinkled fingers through an impressively long beard. "There are an impressive number of stories that these days bring to mind, but – " he laughed as the Hall groaned collectively. "I think that instead I will just say, _good evening._"

Harry let himself be buffeted out the doors by the much relieved crowd. Dumbledore was a brilliant man, there was no question of that. He was also an _old_ man, and one of the favorite pastimes of the old man – according to Sirius – was telling long-winded, mostly pointless stories about their youth. A few memories of that exact thing happening at the end of year feast popped to the front of his mind.

His first year, the Headmaster had given an impressive accounting of the fishing trip he took to the Maldives. Harry knew more than he could ever hope to need about tropical fish as a result. Second year saw him telling a story about his time on the continent, bashing any hopes he might talk about Grindewald to pieces the instant he mentioned yetis.

The long winded stories had stopped once Ben started attending Hogwarts. Largely because every year since Ben started Hogwarts some horrible thing had happened that usually resulted in the near-death of three or more people. _Usually. _Two years ago was a large exception, and last year...

Well, the less said about last year, the better. To Harry, the only good thing to come of last year was Sirius' exoneration.

"Something on your mind?"

He'd stopped near the Goblet's pedestal, minding the Age Line with an airy watchfulness. The voice behind him, low and throaty, caused him to turn and stumble back over it. He regained his feet as gracefully as possible and pointed a threatening finger at Fleur Delacour. She had compressed her lips into a thin, white line and her entire face was involved in the effort of holding back laughter.

"Not. A. Word." he intoned, and she broke. Fleur had a good laugh; rich and lively, it rang out over the crowd of students going about their evenings. He tried to fight the reciprocal smile it tugged out of him, but it was a lost cause.

"You know," Fleur said after she'd regained control of herself. "you're the second person to say that to me today?"

"Must be something in the water," he offered, stepping neatly over the Age Line and out of potential beard danger. He was over the age limit, but sometimes magic took a more...liberal interpretation of its limits. It explained why when you made a mistake, instead of levitating a feather you summoned an angry and confused water buffalo. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." she smiled. "Better now."

"Yeah, yeah." he pouted. Slightly. "Laugh it up."

"It was your face," she said shamelessly. "the expression was impressive. Like you had just eaten a very large lemon and been prodded in the ribs at the same time."

Harry tried to picture the face she described without laughing and couldn't. "Okay, you may have a point."

"Of course I do." she said, before tilting her head at the Goblet. "I put it in. This morning."

A mix of two feelings rose in his chest. Part of it was pride. That he could deal with – that he was familiar with. But the other thing; the warm, pleasantness, _that _he wasn't expecting. It wasn't lust, and it wasn't love, but it was in the neighborhood of both. He knew he was attracted to Fleur, but this feeling...was something else entirely. In the end, he could only say, "I'm happy for you. How do you feel about it?"

Fleur shrugged her shoulders, sighed, and smiled a wide, carefree smile. "Incredible." her eyes danced. "Like the weight was taken off my shoulders."

"I'm glad to hear it." he said, expecting that to be the end of it. Partly _hoping _it was the end of it, because if this carried on any longer he'd probably make a fool of himself. But fate, or Fleur, had other plans, because she closed the distance between them and lowered her voice.

"And your brother?" she asked, shocking him. "Are you still worried about him?"

Harry's mouth opened. It closed. No sound came out. Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"Did you think I would forget?" she asked archly. "You listened to me and remembered. Why should I not do the same for you?"

He held up his hands in apology. "You should. Sorry. It's just...never mind. To answer your question, yes. Yes, I am. I told you last night I'm always worried about him."

"Oh." Her eyes darkened, their bright joy dimming as she carried part of the worry he'd handed her. "I'd hoped that sleeping on it would help you feel better."

"So did I." he confessed. "Did it help you?"

Fleur shrugged. "Not really." And then she took his hand in hers, sliding their palms together in an act far more intimate than it had any right to be. "Look," she said quietly. "I don't know how to make your worries go away. And I don't think you can get rid of mine any easier. So why don't we take a walk around the lake and try to forget for a little while?"

Harry blinked at her, owl-like and confused. Should he say no? He kind of wanted to. Just say no, he had homework or whatever, maybe another time? It would be easier that way. He wouldn't have to think about what _this_ – whatever it was – meant. He wouldn't have to worry about if he was complaining too much. He wouldn't have to think about if a walk around the lake was anything more than a walk around the lake.

Part of him wanted to say no. When he opened his mouth, what came out was, "Yes."

It was her turn to blink at him. For a moment. Then her smile returned twofold and she started tugging him toward the castle doors. Outside, the sun was setting and staining the snow with a palette of warm colors. The air was still and crisp and the picture it presented was beautiful.

"Perfect." Fleur tucked herself into his side and they set off down the path. Off towards the borders of the forest the chimney on Hagrid's hut puffed smoke into the sky. "it's a wonderful evening."

"Yes, it really is." he said, and he was looking at her when he said it, even though he'd tried to stop himself. She didn't notice, or didn't draw attention to it. Either way, he was lucky. They were a quarter of the way to the lake when he realized that Fleur basically had him at her mercy. She could ask him anything she wanted and he couldn't duck away without being incredibly rude.

Yep. He was in trouble.

"What's it like?" she asked. "Going to school here? All those portraits and secret passages and trick stairs, it must be very hectic."

Or maybe he wasn't.

"Maybe," he said. "but it's mostly a good time. Sure, the walls pretend to be doors on occasion, and yes, the paintings do yell at you sometimes. But I mostly like it here. How is it compared to your school?"

* * *

There was a small, disbelieving voice in the back of Fleur's mind that kept asking, _what are you doing, you massive idiot?_ It went on to accuse her – the nerve – of having no real plan beyond Spend Time With Him. She told it to shut up and tried to ignore the fact that it was probably right. She focused on how much she was enjoying the company of a genuine boy for the second time in her life. That it was the same boy both times just made it better.

One of the many, many, _many _downsides of being a Veela was that she'd spent the better part of her teenage years either ignoring or combating the opposite gender. The result of this was that when it came to boys she had two modes: avoid, or hex. And now she was in the company of a boy to whom neither mode would apply. Put simply, she was stumped. And more than a little nervous. That they both had reasons to _not _talk didn't help any.

In the end, the fact his school was playing host to hers and the castle behind them gave her a safe subject, one hopefully free of conversational landmines. Harry seemed happy enough with the subject, painting a picture of a school dominated largely by cheerful chaos. It made her a little homesick for her own castle, and its own, different cheer.

Then he asked her what Beauxbatons was like. She smiled and demolished a small snowdrift with the toe of her shoe. The differences between her castle and his were clear in her mind, and she felt a rush of enthusiasm that she tried to rein in. She didn't want to demean a place that he held in such high esteem. "It's very different," she said eventually.

"In what way?" he asked, and she felt his voice through their linked arms.

"I think Beauxbatons is newer," her brows furrowed as she tried to remember her school's history. "I'm not sure, but it would explain why it looks so much..."

"Nicer?" he prompted with a smile. She flashed a grin at him.

"I was going to be polite about it, but...yes. Nicer. And calmer. The walls are walls, the doors are doors. The staircases don't have minds of their own. Rooms don't shift around and decide they'd rather be on a different floor that day."

"Sounds boring." he opined, and she bumped him with her shoulder. He laughed, the sound sending pleased shivers down her spine. Harry's laugh was uninhibited and open, so completely opposite to the rest of him. She had a sudden desire to dig through his guard to the source of that openness.

"Maybe," she said. "but I think your castle sounds insane."

"That's because it is," he agreed, prompting a laugh from her. "but it's a friendly kind of insanity. Nurturing, like."

"Insanity cannot be nurturing." she insisted through a smile. He grinned and bumped his shoulder into her.

"Says _you._"

She shouldn't be having this much fun talking nonsense in the cold. Especially _Scotland _cold, which was a special breed that liked tormenting foreigners. She'd been happy to concede, but recent events had forced her change her stance on the matter. Being out here with Harry, putting the Tournament and her worries and self-doubts behind her – even if only for a half hour, was nice. _He _was nice.

In a week, things would be different. But that wasn't tonight. Tonight, she would just be a girl, teasing and laughing with a boy she liked on a cold night, red cheeks and a smile on her face. She would deal with the trials to come when they arrived. Until then, she would be in this moment, and let nothing ruin it. Being out there with him made her think that maybe – just maybe – everything would be all right. Whether or not it _would _be was a question for tomorrow.

* * *

**Note: Random question. Does anyone know if Transfigurations have a time limit? Fanon says that they do, but fanon also says that magical cores have an effect on anything other than cheap drama. I want to know what _canon _says about it. The two are very, very different. Anyway, if anyone out there knows, shoot me a PM.**

**I'll give you a shark if you do...**


	3. Play Begins

"_Everyone makes a big fuss about the Goblet of Fire. I've seen it. It's a big cup with fire in it. It also tried to kill me." _

* * *

Tonight was the night. In an hour's time, the Goblet would spit out three names and hers would be one of them. Fleur had to believe that. She had to think that there was no other option than her being selected as champion of Beauxbatons. If she didn't, then no force on earth could get her out of bed.

It would be over soon. Her worry and anxiety, the sharp ball of thorns in her chest, would soon be cut away. The cuts their sharp edges left behind would heal, and she could face whatever came after with fresh determination. She couldn't think about what being a champion would mean; the dangers she would face and the pressures she would feel. Letting herself think about that now would drive her insane and despite Harry's words, insanity _could not _be nurturing.

Harry. He was another thing she couldn't let herself think about tonight. He was too distracting, with those damned eyes and his unguarded laugh that she loved to hear. She would have to take all those warm, blanketing feelings he roused in her – feelings that confused, amazed, and terrified her – and put them in a cage. The strongest cage she could muster until this was done. She had to be cold for this. If her control slipped even a little, she'd end up breaking down in a girl's bathroom.

Fleur rebuilt the walls she had been slowly demolishing over the past week. The callouses that had developed by necessity over the years had softened but never faded. They had been her salvation when her nature had overwhelmed the people around her. Tonight, they would do so again. She promised herself to tear them down again the moment it was done. Having tasted just a mouthful of what her life was like without them, these next few hours promised to be a special kind of agony.

_Knock-knock_ went her door and pulled her from her thoughts. "Who is it?"

"Land shark." the voice muffled and clearly choking back laughter. Fleur felt the beginnings of a smile. Her parents didn't have a muggle television _or _access to American programs, but there just so happened to be a friend of hers that had both.

"Emmy, I know it's you," she called. Emilie huffed in annoyance and thumped the door open, following through with a scowl on her face. She flopped – somewhat melodramatically, Fleur thought – onto her bed and pouted at the ceiling.

"You never let me have any fun." she said, sounding as if Fleur had told her that she could never do anything of that sort ever again. Such a thing was impossible, of course. Stopping Emilie from doing what she wanted was futile, maybe even crazy. Fleur poked her still-pouting friend in the ribs. "Hey!" she yelped and shied away from the offending digit. "What'd you do that for?"

"You were pouting." Fleur explained. The other girl made a 'so what' motion with her eyebrows. "If there's going to be any pouting done tonight, it's going to be by _me_."

Emilie frowned, sitting up and drawing her legs underneath her. "What do you mean? What's so special about tonight?"

Her brain stalled. She _couldn't _be serious. Could she? There was a period of time, maybe six seconds, where Fleur thought she _might _be. Then, as the seconds ticked into a minute and her brain still refused to make words come out of her mouth, she saw something. An upwards tick of Emilie's mouth. Then, a smile, followed by a gut-busting laugh. She slapped Emilie on the shoulder, and shouted, "Do _not _mess with me tonight! I'm already at my last nerve!"

"Oh, come on." a scoff was all her friend could muster in the face of her anxiety. "You're going to be fine, the Tournament will be fun, and you'll be the best champion Beauxbatons has ever seen. Now, stop worrying and come to dinner. All this fuss will be for nothing if you miss the Selection."

Fleur checked her watch and felt her heart skip a beat, like an electric shock had been applied to her nervous system. "It's in half an hour? How long have I been in here?"

Emilie shrugged. "An hour? Maybe two."

"Why didn't you come and get me sooner?"

"Didn't want to bother you. 'Sides, it being your big night, I thought you'd appreciate me giving teasing you a rest."

Oh God, _would she ever. _"Is that likely to happen?"

Emilie grinned evilly, her eyes dancing in a way that made Fleur apprehensive about something other than the upcoming Selection of Champions. "Definitely not."

She sighed. "Wonderful."

* * *

Tonight was the night, and Ben didn't know how he felt. On the one hand, he could feel the beginnings of relief cooling the hot tension he'd been feeling since he busted Malfoy's jaw. The idea that for once, _he _would be left alone was so appealing that frankly, he was considering getting entirely too ahead of himself and thinking that he might have a chance to be normal this year.

And on the other hand was fourteen years of evidence that no, his luck was _nowhere near_ that good and so odds were that if something bad happened, it would invariably happen to him.

That, and Hermione was looking mournfully at Ron, who was ogling Fleur, who was...no way. Ben blinked, but it didn't help. He rubbed his eyes, looked away, and even pinched himself. The only thing he got from this was a sore spot on his arm, fresh eyes, and the knowledge that he wasn't dreaming. That Fleur was looking at his brother, at _Harry, _in much the same way Hermione evidently hoped Ron would look at her.

"Hermione," he said eventually, once his brain had processed that fact. "d'you think we should do something before Ron does something stupid?"

There was a tiny, vindictive corner of him. The part that broke out and made him attack Malfoy whispered bad ideas to him. _Why not let him?_, it asked, _If she sees how much of a tool he is, surely she'll turn to you._

_Shut up_, he told it. Secrets aside, Ron was his friend. Ron had risked life, limb, and sanity alongside him for three years. That was not thrown away lightly. Or at all, if Ben had anything to say about it. So he reached out and flicked Ron's ear, hard,when it looked like Hermione was waffling about what exactly constituted _doing something_.

"Ow!" Ron touched his ear, blinked several times, and turned an interesting shade of violet. "Again? Seriously? She's like a hundred feet away!"

"Maybe you're just really susceptible." Hermione offered, looking much happier now that he wasn't staring. Ben rubbed his chin.

"Are there levels of resistance?" he wondered aloud. Ron huffed; a short, annoyed sound.

"Why doesn't anyone know anything about Veela?" he demanded. "I mean, everyone knows they exist, but no one knows about them! Why is that?"

Ben shrugged. Ron had hit on something percolating in the back of his mind ever since he'd talked to Fleur a week ago. There was _so much _he didn't know about her people. Etienne hadn't been interested in explaining things to two boys and honestly, he wouldn't have asked. She was sort of what he thought a female, French Sirius would be like and that was enough to doubt most of what she said.

Hermione had a look in her eye that he'd become intimately familiar with. It was the look of her realizing there was a piece of errant knowledge in the world she hadn't assimilated into her mainframe-like mind. It was the sort of look that led to the three of them staying up until the wee hours of the morning, poring over books in the Common Room. "I don't know." she said, sounding offending at the notion. "Yet."

"Well, that's that, then." Ron said in the manner of one considering the manner closed. He then filled his plate and began eating, effectively ending the conversation. So Ben started a new one. He directed a vaguely distrustful look at the Goblet sitting innocently up by the staff table, and wondered.

"Who do you think'll get picked?" he asked no one in particular. And since he asked no one in particular, he got around six different answers.

"A Gryffindor, obviously," Ron opined around a mouthful of food. "probably Oliver."

Ben had to disagree. First, he wasn't sure Oliver had entered his name. Second, being obsessed with Quidditch wasn't exactly Triwizard Champion material.

"Someone who encompasses the qualities of all four houses," Hermione said decisively, enough so that Neville, next to her, nodded in agreement. She was probably right, but that didn't stop Seamus from disagreeing.

"No way the Goblet'll choose a Slytherin," he sneezed, the last vestiges of his yearly cold clinging on tight. "Can't think of a single reason why it would, anyway."

"Because they're clever, sneaky, and generally hard to predict? And bless you." Ben offered, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. Ron's mouth opened in a manner similar to a fish, Neville nodded again – this time thoughtfully, and Seamus just stared. Hermione smiled proudly at him, which did all sorts of funny things to his insides.

"But –"

Whatever a thoroughly scandalized Ron was about to say was cut off by Dumbledore taking his podium, smile and mischievous look firmly in place. "Well," he said, "after enough anticipation and rumoring to fill several castles, the night we have all been waiting for has arrived. In no more than five minute's time, the Goblet will have made its decisions and each school will have its champion!"

Muted, excited conversation broke out, filling the hall with a quiet thunder that was easily stifled at the Headmaster's next words.

"All we are waiting for is the sign the Goblet will give to indicate that it is ready. It will sound – "

The Goblet's fire flared, almost too bright to look at, going from a merry orange to a brilliant white before simmering back to a vibrant blue. A sound like a cracked whip, magnified by ten, filled the Hall. Ben flinched at the volume and blinked the spots out of his eyes.

"remarkably like that." Dumbledore finished.

* * *

A mix of emotion burbled in Harry's gut. He wasn't immune to the excitement permeating the Hall. He found himself sitting forward in his seat with eyes zeroed on the innocent looking Goblet. Twined with that was anticipation; Roger had told him the day before that he had entered his name, and he wanted his friend to be chosen. But running underneath all of that, even under his ever-present worry about his brother, was a deep-seated foreboding that something, _something _was going to go wrong.

They knotted him up, bunched his shoulders until it ached. When the Goblet snapped a tongue of flame up to lick tongues of flame at the enchanted ceiling, he jumped and felt his heart skip a beat. He was half a second from sprinting from the Hall before he got himself back under control. To his left, Roger was looking at him worriedly, with good reason. Harry knew he'd never shown this kind of emotion before.

"Harry?" Roger said, hand twitching towards him, "Mate? You okay?"

"Yes." He didn't take his eyes of the Goblet, which still sat pretty as you please full of fire and bad portents. "No. I – I...ah, I don't know. I just feel like something bad's going to happen."

Roger had either been party to his misadventures or peripheral to them too many times to disregard his friend's instincts. He alternated looking at Harry with clear worry and looking at the Goblet with even clearer suspicion. "What are you going to do? No, wait, what are _we _going to do?"

Harry shook his head as Dumbledore approached the Goblet, within which the flames were growing higher – spilling over the lip and curling down towards the stone pedestal it rested on. "I believe the first champion is about to be revealed!" the old wizard called, and sure enough a scrap of scorched parchment was carried on a tongue of flame into the air. With more agility than Harry would have given an old man for, Dumbledore caught the parchment and announced to a silent Great Hall, "The champion for Beauxbatons," he read, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Harry should have been proud. He should have been smiling and clapping like all the other people around her. Every single delegate from her school was on their feet; the girl closest to Fleur, her friend Emilie, if he remembered, was in tears. When she looked to him, and she did look _right _at him, the smile he mustered was probably closer to a grimace. He should have been able to be happy for her, should have been smiling, but he couldn't. Because he knew...

Something _would _happen. He _knew _it would.

Another tongue of fire, another scrap of parchment. "The champion for Durmstrang," Dumbledore read, "is Viktor Krum!"

The Durmstrang students set to pounding out a wild beat, drumming their fists on the table and stomping on the floor as the dour Krum stood and entered the small chamber without looking back. The Goblet's fire danced, and Harry felt the hairs on his neck rise. This was it. There was only one school left. If anything was going to happen, if anything..._bad _was going to go down, it would be now, carried to Dumbledore's hands on a garland of fire.

The last parchment was snatched out of the air and opened. Harry's breath – and his heart – stopped. "The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore intoned, "is Cedric Diggory!"

And just like that, it was over. That little hope, the one that he might have a good last year, raised its head and sniffed the air. He'd thought it was dead, but apparently hopes were tougher to kill than he'd given them credit for. The tension, forged in cold flames by that sense of foreboding, left his body, relaxing his shoulders and letting his heart beat again.

It was all of it too soon.

The Goblet flared again, a tendril of ash and flame carrying a _fourth _scrap to a bewildered Dumbledore's outstretched hand. The disbelief that turned Harry's gut was echoed clearly on the old wizard's wrinkled face.

"Benjamin Potter."

Fuck.

* * *

Fleur was certain that if someone were to listen to her heart beating right then, they would only hear a continuous hum. It was astonishing that she was able to sit still in the chair she'd claimed in the corner of the room. Across from her, leaning on the wall with his arms folded and frowning deeply was her Durmstrang competitor; Viktor Krum. Apart from his status as an international Seeker legend, she didn't know anything about him or his capabilities.

The same could be said of her Hogwarts counterpart – Cedric Diggory. He was a genial enough looking young man with kind eyes and tousled brown hair. He didn't _look _like the sort of person who'd dare to compete in a potentially lethal tournament. She would have to watch them both very, very carefully.

Now that she'd been chosen, she – and the other two – had only one question: _What happens now?_

The antechamber's wooden door, with its iron bands bolted into the timber, muffled the sounds coming from the Great Hall enough that it became a sort of drone in the back of her mind that she barely noticed. She _did _notice when it suddenly stopped. She looked towards the silence, her brows drawing into the beginning of a frown.

The door opened.

Ben Potter walked into the Champion's Antechamber, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. "Ben?" he snapped his gaze to her, emotions flying across them too fast for her to see. Worry started twining around her heart once again, jabbing thorns into barely healed wounds. "Is everything okay?"

He let out a shaky breath and ran a even shakier hand through his hair. "N-not really."

"What's – ?" she began to ask, but was interrupted by the door slamming open again, having swung closed in the interim. In stormed several people, all of whom looked no more together than Ben. Which was comforting. The sight of all three Headmasters with the same shocked look dropped her heart into her stomach. She dug her fingers into the thick armrests of her chair and watched as mayhem unfolded right in front of her.

Madame Maxime was quiet, which Fleur found comforting, with an expression of mixed shock and worry on her features, which she did not. Her Headmistress kept to the back, towering over the other men in silence, letting Karkaroff do most of the talking. He was happy to do so.

"– it makes perfect sense!" the incensed man spat, pale eyes flashing in anger and wounded pride. "Potter entered himself to give Hogwarts a better chance at victory!"

"I find that unlikely," Madame Maxime said levelly, "given that _monsieur _Potter is underage. How could he have found a way past the Age Line?"

"The Line was flawed!" Karkaroff snarled. Fleur watched the man pace back and forth, saw Krum looking at his Headmaster with something approaching disapproval. "Dumbledore must have made a mistake when he drew it!"

"It is possible," Dumbledore allowed. Beside him the normally stern-faced Professor McGonagall snorted derisively.

"Please, Headmaster," she said, "you could no more have made a mistake than an underage wizard could have fooled the Goblet!"

_She had a point_, Fleur thought. Even if Ben had managed to get past the Age Line, which all statements about his magical ability or intelligence aside, was _incredibly _unlikely, he'd still have to find a way to trick a centuries old magical object into accepting his name.

"All of that aside," a tall, thin, mustachioed man in a muggle suit – the fashion choice looking remarkably odd among all the...wizardry – spoke from the back of the room. "the Goblet has gone out and cannot be relit until the next Tournament."

"In which Durmstrang will _not _be competing!" Karkaroff drew himself up; a man delivering an ultimatum. "I see this Tournament for the sham it is. Come, Viktor. We are leaving."

Viktor, moving for the first time since the hubbub began, pushed himself off the wall and stalked across the room to a still pale Ben. Fleur felt her heart skip a beat. For a wild moment she thought the older boy would curse him. Then she remembered that Viktor, all rumors about his school aside, _wasn't _evil just because he went to Durmstrang.

"I do not know," his voice was the sound of stones colliding. "how you ended up here, but know this; I do not believe you entered yourself. I will tell my fellows the same, and – "

"Viktor!" Karkaroff snapped. "We are leaving!"

"I will help you if I can." Viktor finished, ignoring his headmaster. Then he brushed past the bewildered looking man and left the antechamber, leaving Karkaroff to follow speechlessly in his wake.

"So will I," Fleur found herself promising. Ben smiled weakly at her, and over his head Madame Maxime nodded proudly at her.

"Same." Cedric declared, nodding to follow his promise before turning to the two remaining Headmasters. "We done?"

"Not quite," the thin man said. "there is still the matter of the first task." he stepped to the forefront and clasped his hands. "It is designed to test your courage in the face of the unknown and _originally_, the plan was to not reveal anything about it...but circumstances have changed. In light of this, the Committee has decided to reveal the nature of the task: you three – four now – will face a magical creature in an arena. Your goal is to collect an object. In the spirit of the task, the nature of neither the animal nor the object will not be revealed, but I will say this." he made eye contact with every champion still in the room. "The animal would not have been chosen would it not test you. Prepare for the worst, and you _will_ succeed."

And with that, the thin man nodded once to Dumbledore and left the room. The old wizard clapped his hands together before saying, "Well, I believe that's enough excitement for one evening. Mr. Potter? If you would be so kind as to join me in my office? Sirius and your brother are waiting for us." He held out a long fingered hand, which Ben seized gratefully and let himself be led out.

Cedric nodded to Fleur and followed, leaving her alone with Madame Maxime. "Madame," Fleur asked, "What just happened?"

The tall, elegant woman shook her head slowly, "I have no idea."

* * *

Harry imagined that Dumbledore would retreat to his office whenever the stress of managing Hogwarts got to be too much, when throwing himself headlong into his two _other _jobs seemed like a viable alternative to managing a school full of rambunctious, hormonal children with magical powers. He hoped he never, _ever_, found himself in the position where that choice made sense.

The position he was in now, with a furious godfather pacing the room and a shell-shocked brother sitting numbly in a chintzy armchair, was only _that _much more palatable by comparison. Harry sat in the chair next to Ben's, scooting closer to squeeze his brother's shoulder in a silent show of support. He got an appreciative look and an almost-smile in reply. It would have to do.

"How could you have let this happen?" Sirius spat, spinning sharply on his heel. The hard sole of his shoe bunched a circle of carpet every time he did this. There were a number of circles on each side of the room. "How could you let my _fourteen year old _godson be entered into a tournament that _regularly _kills seventeen year old wizards?"

Harry found that a little unfair, a view that Dumbledore seemed to share. Even though the old wizard's eyes and general manner remained amiable, there was a faint trace of steel in his tone. "As much credit as you give me – which I thank you for – I am neither all seeing nor all knowing. Things do happen that are beyond my ability to see."

Sirius was out for blood; the man's dark, almost black eyes almost burned with anger. "My godsons are under _your _care, Albus! Whatever happens to them is on your head!"

The kindly, grandfather look disappeared from Dumbledore's face in a heartbeat. "Do you think me unaware of this? Do you think that I am not, right now, berating myself for letting something like this happen to one of _my _students? For as much Mr. Potter's relief as yours, I have every acknowledged expert who owes me a favor looking into the matter."

"What I want to know," Harry interjected before Sirius could make Dumbledore any angrier, which he wanted to avoid because frankly, the old wizard was scaring him a little right now and he wasn't even yelling. "is who could have done this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ben spoke for the first time, his voice was hoarse and he stared at the front of the desk in front of him. "It's who it's always been. This is just his yearly attempt at killing me." He looked Dumbledore in the eye. "Why does this keep happening? Why can't you stop him?"

"If I could, I would, Mr. Potter, you know this." Dumbledore's voice was reassuring, calming, but his face seemed more lined and wrinkled than ever. "You should take heart, though."

"Why?" Sirius, Ben, and Harry asked at once, then all looked at each other. Harry looked back to Dumbledore in time to see the old wizard suppress a smile before steepling his fingers and leaning forward.

"Because whoever did this has an exceptional amount of talent, and an equally exceptional lack of ingenuity."

Sirius put his hands on Ben's shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. "How does that help us?" he asked. Dumbledore took a long minute before answering.

"It tells us a few things about our mystery person. First, this person is acting under orders. A person with that amount of power could have found an easier way to strike at Mr. Potter, but instead they went to a _tremendous _effort to not tip their hand? Why? Why go through all this trouble?"

Harry took the lead the old wizard offered. "This person was acting under orders. They were told to enter Ben into the tournament."

"Exactly, Mr. Potter! Exactly!" Dumbledore looked every inch the proud professor he must have at one time been. "This person, whoever they are, follows their orders, and does so in an untraceable way, leading me to believe two things about them: first, as young Mr. Potter has already surmised, they are in some way a follower of Voldemort. Second, that they are involved in the Tournament, possibly even a member of the Committee."

From the way his face twisted, Sirius found the news as palatable as Harry. "There are literally hundreds of people involved," he said. "and, according to you, any one of them could be our assassin. So what do we do?"

"I am in contact with Rufus Scrimgeour," Dumbledore said, "the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He is launching a surreptitious investigation into what's happened. In the meantime, or until they strike again, all we can do is wait."

Harry didn't want to wait. He found the idea as palatable as six raw lemons. "Is that all?" he asked, leaning forward. "I mean, are we just going to wander about the school, pretending nothing's wrong?"

"That's exactly what we're going to do." Sirius answered, causing Harry to jerk around to stare incredulously at him. "Don't look at me like that. I want this guy found just as much as you do, Harry, but we have no idea who we're looking for! We can't just _blunder _around hexing everyone we think looks out of place!"

"I know that!" he snapped back, digging his fingers into the armrests. "I know they'll bugger off if they know we're onto them, but I _hate _that we can't do _anything_!"

"Actually," Dumbledore mused, "that's not _entirely _true. There may be something."

"What?" Ben latched onto the thought like a drowning man and a life preserver. Harry felt a pang at the look of desperation on his brother's face. Desperation that had no right to be there and he wanted to get rid of in any way that he could.

"Professors are forbidden from offering any sort of help to the champions." the Headmaster said. He stalled an outburst from Sirius with an upraised hand. "However, the rules say nothing about older brothers or godfathers."

"Then that's what we do," Sirius said, with the finality of a man making an executive decision. "We help Ben stay alive, and you find the son of a bitch who made all of this necessary."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed like lanterns in the dark, bright with intent and ferocious purpose. "Rest assured, Sirius, Ben, Harry, they _will _be found."

* * *

Dumbledore's promise bounced around Ben's mind as he left the office. Knowing the impressive old wizard was on his side didn't really help him feel any better. He didn't know what to feel at all, actually. The last emotion he could remember with any certainty was shock when his name came out of the Goblet. After that he'd just drifted, letting himself be dragged about without giving any kind of input until now.

"Ben!"

He turned to see Harry come up to him and felt a surge of gratitude break through his fugue. He could feel the incoming storm inside him, the beginnings of a true emotional breakdown stirring in his heart. Tropical Storm Ben was gaining speed and sprinting headlong towards land. He bottled it up, burying it deep and saying, "Hey."

Harry studied him with their mother's eyes and asked, "You gonna be okay?"

For a moment Ben wanted to yell that he'd been hearing that question all evening and was _sick _of it. Then something occurred to him, something that made the emotional storm inside him gain strength; not one person had asked him that. Between the Hall and the Champion's room, and the room and Dumbledore's office he'd had exactly nobody ask him if he was going to be _all right_.

He bit his lip and shook his head. "I've no idea. I just...I don't know what to feel right now."

Harry nodded, clapping him on the shoulder in the closest thing his brother could get to a public display of emotion. "You will soon," he told Ben, "it'll all hit you at once and then...just remember we're here for you; Sirius and me and Hermione and Ron."

Ben was nowhere near secure enough to admit that Harry's words almost made him cry. He _was _secure enough to dart forward and try to hug him to death. He was held just as tightly, and it occurred to him that maybe he wasn't the only one on the verge of losing it. "Thank you," he whispered into his brother's robes.

* * *

Opening the portrait hole into Gryffindor tower, Ben didn't know what to expect. It wouldn't be surprising to be subjected to covert stares and whispered conversations behind his back. His second year had taught him that given a choice between thinking through a situation based on what they knew of him and making crap up based on wild speculation, they'd happily speculate until their ears fell off.

What was surprising was the silence that fell when he entered. Looking around he could see the Weasley twins, unusually somber at the round table by the window. A red-nosed Seamus was sitting next to Dean Thomas, both of whom looking at Ben as if they didn't know what to think. And everyone else? Well, they just stared. _That_ he could deal with.

Hermione rose from her chair by the fire and headed towards him. Her eyes were red and her fingernails bore signs of being chewed. She was worried. Again. Because of him. _Again_. The storm in him gained a category and picked up speed. He couldn't hold it together for much longer. She stopped in front of him and for a second just stared at him, searching his eyes for...something before throwing her arms around him and trying to squeeze the air from his lungs.

Her sudden movement seemed to startle the rest of the room into action, people either making their way towards him, words of empathy or belief on their lips or turned away either to condemn him or make up their minds.

"No way you'd pull something this big without us." Fred and George said, managing to clap Ben on either shoulder despite Hermione being wrapped around him. He nodded his thanks, being unable to speak for fear of melting down completely. The twins went back to their table, heads tilted together, to be replaced by Seamus.

"I dunno how your name ended up there, mate." Seamus sniffed, before saying, "But I'm sure you had nothing to do with it." Behind him, Dean nodded his agreement.

"Thanks, guys." Ben forced out, and if his words were a little more clipped than usual the didn't hold it against him. He blinked when he realized who _hadn't _come forth or really been there at all. "Where's Ron?"

His gut filled with lead when he saw Seamus wince, a motion he copied when Hermione squeezed tighter at the mention of their friend's name. "Eh, mate..." Dean rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously. "Ron, well...he didn't take it well."

"Understatement if there ever was one." Neville, who had managed to sneak up on him, agreed.

_Oh, great_. Just what he needed. Hermione mumbled something into his shoulder. Something which, from the tone, was less than complimentary towards Ron. "Can't hear you," he murmured, and she grumbled before leaning back to give him a visual idea of her displeasure.

"I said," she ground the words out, "that the great _prat _believes you entered yourself on purpose!"

After being completely nonplussed for several seconds, Ben asked, "Why the bloody hell would he think that?" to no one in particular. He felt her shrug before she stepped back. Reluctantly, he let his arms fall back to his side.

"You'll have to ask him," Hermione told him, "I have no idea."

Tropical Storm Ben made landfall. Batten down the hatches and duct tape the windows, because everything that he had bottled up – all that fear and anger and worry and anxiety, all of his horror and dread and lingering disappointment that _no one _saw this coming – broke free and _surged._ In the hearth, the fire flared, tendrils curling out and licking char into the carpet. The window rattled once before exploding out in a fan of bright, glowing sand before reversing the entire process.

Ben took a deep breath, and it all stopped. The few people that been ignoring him sure as hell weren't now.

"Ben," Hermione's voice reached through the haze his emotions had draped over him. "are...are you okay?"

"Not really." he rasped. She took his elbow, leading him to a seat by the same fire he'd just unwittingly affected just moments ago. He sank into it, pulling his legs up to wrap his arms around and wishing it wasn't past curfew so he could go out to his hiding place. Hermione sat on the arm of his chair, he looked up in time to see her nodding and mouthing, 'go', to someone behind him.

She saw his look and said, "They boys are going to go talk to Ron, okay? Um...is there anything I can do to help?"

Ben laughed hollowly. "Unless you know how to get out a binding magical contract with a centuries old artifact, you can't help me."

"Maybe I can't," she murmured. "but I can do something else."

"Like what?"

"Like this." she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into her side, using her free hand to run her fingers through his hair. The storm that raged inside of him and ragged the edges of his self control calmed, content to burn itself out at a slower, less devastating pace. He kept his eyes on the fire in front of him. If he looked at Hermione right now,he'd either kiss her or burst into tears. Or both.

Ben swallowed thickly. "It's not fair."

"What isn't?"

"All of it."

"I know... We're with you, Ben. Me, and Harry, and Sirius, and Ron – even though he's being an idiot right now – we're all here, and we're not going anywhere."

"Trust me," he smiled slightly. "that's pretty well the only thing keeping me sane right now."

Hermione giggled. "Happy to help."

* * *

In the Ravenclaw Common Room, things weren't going as well as Harry had hoped they would. There was a vocal group of students, led by Bertram, who believed that not only did Ben somehow enter himself into the Tournament but also did it as a snub to them, personally.

"The fact that _Cedric _is the actual Hogwarts champion hasn't occurred to yet, has it?" Harry asked scathingly. "I would think, Bertram, that someone sorted into the house of the_ wise _would use their brains before letting their ego get the better of them!"

Bertram's face fell, but he had the eyes of a half dozen of his peers at his back. So he rallied under the pressure. "Maybe you were in on it!" he shouted. "Maybe...the two of you cooked up some scheme to bring the glory back to your family!"

It was a weak argument. Harry knew it, and from the look in his eyes, so did Bertram. The people behind him were shooting furtive glances at their unofficial mouthpiece and edging away from him. "_Bring the glory back to my family_? Are you insane? My family is _dead_, its house ashes, and the only two members left are me and Ben and neither of us give a fuck about this..._idiotic _TOURNAMENT!"

Harry took several long, deep breaths and the red curtain over his gaze lifted. He met the eyes of every person who stood behind a shamefaced Bertram. Only then he became aware of someone's hand on his shoulder, a warning not to go too far. _Too late_, he thought. "My brother did not enter himself. He did not want to be a part of this. Professor Dumbledore thinks someone is trying to _murder _him...So here's what we're going to do. If what just happened here was any indication, there's going to be a lot of angry, misinformed people in the castle."

"What do you want us to do?" Bertram murmured, studying his shoes. Harry took it for the public apology it was.

"Damage control." He answered. "Lex – are you here? Oh, there you are – if you catch any Ravenclaw giving _any _credence to the rumor that Ben Potter is in the Tournament of his own free will; take five points. If they do it again, ten. If they do it a third time, send 'em to Flitwick. Let him sort them out. The rest of you are going to tell people what I just told you. Someone is trying to kill my brother. _That's _why his name came out. Not for _glory_."

Bertram winced.

"We'll do it, Harry." Roger said, squeezing his shoulder in support. "By the time we're done, no one in the school'll believe it. Except the Slytherins, but you know, they hate you, so..." he made a rude hand gesture.

The tension broke, and people began to drift away. They went back to their star charts or historical cross-reference lists or Potions recipes. Bertram stayed, taking two hesitant steps towards him before lifting his head. Harry felt a stab of guilt at the shine in his housemate's eyes. "I didn't know, Harry," he said. "Honest. I just...I put my name in, you know? And – and it was bad enough that Cedric got picked instead of me, but then Ben's name comes out? It felt like an insult, and..." he sighed. "I don't know, man. I just...I'm sorry, mate. I really am."

Harry tilted his head one way, then the other. Bertram wasn't an idiot, despite what he'd said about Ben. The worst thing that could be said about him was that he was passionate. Every emotion was felt deeply, and Harry knew from experience that sometimes even the purported rationalists of Ravenclaw let their emotions get the better of them.

He extended his hand. Bertram took it. "We're square." he said. "Just...keep an eye on Ben, yeah? Only a matter of time 'fore something goes down. I want to be there when it does."

Bertram nodded. "Okay. Okay, I will. Thanks, Harry." Then he left, going up the stairs to the room the seventh year boys shared. Harry felt the evening crash down on his shoulders and sank into a thick armchair by an arched window with a view of the lake. He leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes. Across from him he heard someone sink into his chair's twin.

"Hell of a day, huh?" Roger asked, and he snorted, breath misting on the glass.

"Biggest understatement I ever heard."

Roger grunted. "Dumbledore really think someone's trying to kill Ben?"

"Yep."

"So what do we do?"

Harry opened his eyes. "Keep him alive."

* * *

**Note: Loving the support, guys, keep it coming. Thanks to all who answered my question. Sharks all around! Now all I have to do is remember why I asked it...**

**Troubling. **

**See you next time.**


	4. Follow Up

"_Something I learned? Hoo, boy...well, I could tell you what I learned about fighting? You sure? Here goes; skill and power are important, but the truest weapon is your mind. Your mind will perceive the pattern in your opponents and when you do...you can destroy them. How did I learn that?_

_[laughs]_

_How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"_

* * *

The air around the pale blue jet of light crackled as it cut through the air towards him. He had only a split-second to decide whether to drop a shield – which he wasn't very good at – or get out of the way. The hex took his decision away when it hit him in the upper shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground with all his limbs locked rigid. As he had landed face down, he could only hear his tormentor approaching; the sound of boots on a stone floor.

"Gotcha." said Sirius.

They were in the Room of Requirement two days after he'd illegally become an entrant in the Tournament. Ostensibly they were here for his training, but he was starting to think that was just an excuse for Sirius to beat the stuffing out of him while Harry laughed. "Yeah, you did." he wiggled, the only movement his locked up body could perform. "Now can you let me go?"

"Yes," his godfather crouched next to him. "but only after you tell me how I got you."

"By being better than me?" Ben growled in frustration. Sirius chuckled.

"Maybe. But that's not all. What else?"

He tamped down on the bitter emotion inside him as best he could and thought. He went over everything he'd done in that last bout with a fine-toothed comb and tried to find where he'd gone wrong. Beside him, Sirius waited patiently for him to work it through. "I just let you hit me." he said. "I was so caught up in trying to figure out what to do that I didn't actually _do _anything."

"Exactly." His limbs loosened and he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the ache on his chest where the Body-Bind had hit him.

"But...what's the lesson here? Am I thinking too much?"

"Never had a problem with that before." Harry muttered from the sidelines, _101 Spells and Incantations for Self-Defense _on his lap.

"Shut up, Harry." Ben said, before turning back to his laughing godfather. "Really, though. What am I trying to learn here?"

"I can't teach you about self-preservation," Sirius said, slipping his wand back up his sleeve. "after three years at this madhouse I'd say you've plenty of experience in keeping yourself alive. What I'm trying to teach you is how to fight."

"But I've fought before."

"Yes," Sirius acknowledged, "but always against someone who underestimates you. That's not going to last forever, Ben. Sooner or later someone'll wise up and take you seriously. And that's why we're doing this. Because when they figure out that you are capable of so much more than they think, you're going to be ready for them."

"So my first lesson is...?" Ben prompted, heartened by his godfather's words but still very much confused.

"Do I have to put a name on it?" Sirius sighed. "Fine, call it...If You Don't Recognize the Spell, Get Out of the Damn Way. An Introduction. Now," he pulled his wand back out. "you ready?"

"I-"

"_Reducto!_"

Ben yelped and dove under the curse. With the breath on its way out from the impact he wheezed, "_Impedimenta._" and watched as Sirius twisted out of its way. He grinned at Ben before leveling his wand.

"Better," he said, "but you should have rolled. _Stupefy_."

_I think Sirius might be enjoying this too much, _thought Ben. Then the stunner hit him the face and everything went dark.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, you do realize that taking points for speaking their mind is not an acceptable use of your prefect status?"

"Perfectly, sir," Harry replied. "but I did what I thought was best."

It was a widely held belief by those who hadn't been inside that Professor Flitwick's office was constructed to fit the needs of the shorter man. There were two schools of thought on this subject. The first being that all the furniture was shrunk to fit him, and the second being that all the furniture was normal sized and had some sort of staircase for him to climb.

Having been inside it on multiple occasions, Harry was aware that neither was the case. Seemed to him that what the other two groups forgot was that Professor Flitwick was in fact the Charms expert of the school. 'Inconveniently-sized' was a phrase that just hadn't occurred to him. If he wanted to get at or into something, he would.

"Oh?" Flitwick raised an impressively hairy eyebrow. "Explain yourself."

"I based my decision on the events of Ben's second year. I'm sure you remember it. I'm equally sure you're well aware of the...I'm trying to find a way to not be crude in front of my Head of House..._rumors_ that my brother was the Heir of Slytherin."

"I remember."

"What you don't remember is the pain, professor, the sheer amount of anguish those rumors caused him. We have an unpleasant home life, and we consider this place our reward for living it. Coming here, expecting sanctuary and receiving...that was more than a twelve year old could handle. Or a fifteen year old, for that matter."

"As reprehensible as the actions of the past were," Flitwick's voice had lost some of its squeak, a sure sign his patience was wearing thin. "it doesn't explain why I've had to officiate _six _detentions in the past two days."

"I'm coming to that," Harry replied. "those rumors persisted for _months_, professor, and not once did anyone at any point step in and say, 'that's enough'." he shrugged. "I wanted to save Ben from going through that again, sir. That's all."

A long silence fell, broken only by the professor's chair squawking as it leaned back. Flitwick steepled his fingers. Harry chewed his bottom lip and waited for the fallout. He'd been expecting it for more than a day, now. All that remained was to see what price he would pay.

"I understand your intent," Flitwick finally said, breaking the quiet. "and in more than one way I am sympathetic, but..the fact remains that you overstepped the bounds of the office of prefect, and that cannot go unpunished. If I were to allow it to do so I would set a dangerous precedent. One that I cannot, in good conscience, allow. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded. "I do."

"Then for the next six weeks you have lost the prefect's position. Please inform Mr. Davies of what has occurred and tell him that he is to serve as prefect in the interim. In addition, I am undoing the points you and Ms. Roberts took and canceling the detentions. Taking action of this sort again will result in the permanent loss of your badge. Am I understood?"

"You are."

"Good." Flitwick nodded. "You are excused, Mr. Potter. Wish your brother luck for me, would you?"

_Well, that was fun_. Harry scrubbed his palms through his hair as he left the office. His leg twinged, reminding him of another time when his actions had a consequence to himself. It should have been a lesson he remembered, but he'd lost his temper, and in the burning anger he'd forgotten everything except protecting Ben. He sighed and went to go find Roger. Had to give him the good news, after all.

* * *

"How was training?"

"Murg."

Hermione laughed and prodded his shoulder. Ben glared tiredly at her. "That well, huh?"

"My godfather's a sadist." Ben informed her. She composed herself for all of a moment before losing it and dissolving into laughter once more. Personally, he didn't see what was so funny about being killed by his guardian. Sirius _said _that it was for his own good, but Ben was onto him. This was punishment, ongoing punishment. Also his arms and legs felt like wet noodles.

"Sirius knows what he's doing." she still sounded entirely too amused about this whole thing. If he had any energy left – at all – he might have gotten annoyed. As it was he just sunk into the couch by the fire and tried to meld with it.

"So do I. He's training me to death."

"No, he's not and you know it," she said primly, before her look turned devious. "It could be worse, you know."

"How?" Ben closed his eyes and was on his way to a lovely nap on the couch. Naturally, Hermione had to ruin it.

"Moody could be training you."

Yeah, he wasn't tired anymore. Although he was suddenly very grateful for Sirius' lenient training methods. He was going easy, really. The bruises would fade in a few hours, anyway. "If Moody were training me," he said with finality. "then I would be dead. So thanks for giving this – " he waved a weak hand at his sweaty, exhausted body. "– a bright side."

Hermione grinned. "You have to keep things in perspective."

Ben was glad she didn't mention Ron. He was too tired to think about the whole catastrophe about his – recently demoted – best friend. That would have to keep until after the nap that was not-so-subtly sneaking up on him. He felt the couch shift and then felt something shaped suspiciously like Hermione press up against his side. "What're you doing?" he murmured.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Go to sleep, already."

So he did.

* * *

Fleur had been the Triwizard Champion of Beauxbatons for two days now, which was great, really, but...now that the thing she'd been preparing for and worrying about for months was done with she didn't really know what to do with herself. She could always prep for the first task, and she'd paged through some texts on magical creatures, but there was only so much research she could do without more information. Were they predators? Were they female? Cold-blooded or warm? Reptilian, mammalian, or amphibian?

There were too many animals that would gleefully chomp on her extremities for her to prepare for them all.

She could always go bug Emilie but the idea didn't hold much appeal. What she wanted to do, and was prevented from doing only by a lack of places to find him, was go talk to Harry. As confusing as the intensity of her attraction to the boy was, it dictated that she go find him and get to know him. In any way she could. She had more dignity – not to mention self-control – than that, but the idea did have its appeal.

And, as luck would have it, she bumped into someone who might be able to point her in the right direction. While she was leaving the Great Hall among the usual morass of students she managed to spot a familiar head of very red hair attached to a lanky, equally familiar body. What was his name? Rick? Robert? Ron, that was it! "Ron!" she called, sliding between a pair of statue-shaped boys.

Up ahead, Ron stopped and looked behind him, puzzlement clear until he spotted her. Then it changed briefly to recognition before becoming something more familiar but less welcome; a glassy eyed stare. As she approached he said, "You know, the Minister was just telling me about how important it was to have broomsticks that reach other planets."

"I'm sure he did," Fleur said, then bopped him in the middle of his forehead with her palm. He started, blinked, and his ears turned a similar shade of red to his hair. She contained her amused grin to a slight quirk of the mouth. Ron gave her an apologetic look.

"What did I say this time?"

Her barely contained grin broke free as she said, "Oh, you were telling me about the Ministry's position on interplanetary broomsticks."

"Oh." he scratched the back of his head. "That's er...good?"

"I suppose." she laughed before asking, "Listen, I was wondering if you knew where I could find Harry."

Ron's face turned inward and sour and Fleur blinked at the transformation from the amiable if embarrassed boy to the darkened angry one in front of her. "Oh, him." he growled. Her brows rose towards the ceiling.

"Has he...done something?" she ventured. Ron shook his head, his brows drawing together into a frown.

"No." Ron said curtly. "It's...I'd rather not talk about it. Er...last I saw Harry he was headed towards the library. I promised someone I'd meet them, so..."

"Oh!" Fleur wondered if there was something in the food that made talking with Englishmen so bewildering, or such rotten liars. "No, excuse me, I'll just...go to the library, I guess. Good evening."

Ron nodded and she left with the distinct impression that _something _was going on. She didn't know what but she was getting an idea, but she'd have to ask Harry before she gave it any weight. So, taking a moment to remember how to actually get to the library, she set off.

After two wrongs turns and an angry portrait, she was started to get annoyed with a building – which she hadn't even known was possible. She wasn't trying to belabor the fact that she preferred Beauxbatons, but right then she _really _missed the way it didn't try to get her lost on purpose. Or so it seemed, as she rounded a corner to see _yet another _dead end.

Fleur threw her hands up and sighed in disgust. "This place needs a map," she muttered.

"You aren't the first to think that." an unfamiliar male voice said from behind her. Despite having had several normal conversations with boys in recent days, one doesn't just forget years of wariness in a few weeks. Before she could even register her surprise she was three strides away. She turned on the third stride to face the speaker and her hand drifted to her wand.

She'd seen this boy before, sitting with Harry at meals sometimes. He had strong features and dark hair and eyes. His nose appeared to have been broken several times and he had the weather beaten look of a Quidditch player. At present his eyes were widened in surprised and his hands help up palms out. "Whoa! Uh, sorry, I guess. Didn't mean to scare you."

Fleur's heart was beating a little fast and she had a flash back to a particularly horrid instance when she was thirteen. A deep breath later and she was fine. "No," she said, relaxing her white-knuckle grip on her wand. "it's okay, I...I don't take being surprised very well."

The boy shook his head and lowered his hands. "Can't say's I blame you, really. Mind if I ask what you're looking for?"

"For Harry, actually." she said. Maybe she should close the distance she created...

No.

Her instincts, the same ones that told her the same action was acceptable with Harry informed her that no, this boy's control was good, but...not good enough. She maintained her distance and kept her guard up. She watched as the glaze entered his eyes and sighed. Then he shook his head like a wet dog and smiled ruefully at her.

* * *

"Stronger than firewhiskey, that." he held out his hand for her to shake, thought better of it, and settled for a wave. "I'm Roger Davies, by the way. Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team." he blinked. "Why did I tell you that?"

Fleur laughed. She couldn't help it. Roger's reaction to her allure was one of the funniest she'd seen in a while. He shook his head again and sighed.

"Fine, fine. Laugh it up, lady. I'll just leave you to find him yourself, shall I?"

She gasped and put her hand to her heart. "Surely you would not be as cruel as that."

Roger drew out the silence for a half-minute before conceding, "Yeah, I'm not. He's in the library. Come on, I'll show you."

Fleur nodded her acquiescence. He led them back the way they'd come, the halls seeming familiar until he politely asked one of the statues to move. The metal figure clanked and squealed out of the way; revealing a narrow, rough-cut passage with dim lanterns sunk into the ceiling. She gaped. Was there a straight line between two places _anywhere _in this demented place?

Roger caught her look and chuckled. "Believe it or not, you do get used to it."

"To a castle trying to get you lost?"

"Well, yeah."

She raised a skeptic brow at him. "I don't believe you."

He shrugged and started down the passage. His voice reverberated weirdly in the empty stone hall. "We spend nine-ish months a year here for seven years. That much time, you get used to anything. Listen...it's none of my business, but – why are you looking for Harry?"

It was a very good question. One that, unfortunately, she didn't have the answer to. "I don't really know," she said quietly. The passage distorted her accent to the point of her being nearly unintelligible. "I just...want to."

Roger took a long time to respond. "Well, like I said, it's none of my business but –" another lengthy pause. She felt the awkward flowing off him."– Harry's guarded. It takes a lot for him to open up to someone. For whatever reason, he likes you. He _trusts _you, or he's starting to."

"What are you saying?"

"Be gentle with him, I guess. And don't, whatever you do, tell him I said that. He'll...hurt me."

Fleur smiled. "Your secret's safe with me." Her smile faded as her mind ran with ideas; thoughts and notions about _what _could make someone so – to borrow a term – guarded as Harry Potter. And what kind of person he was to inspire such loyalty in his friends. It leaped happily on top of her already confused feelings about him and left her not quite knowing which was up.

_Be gentle with him_, he'd said. Well, she could do that.

* * *

There were a number of tables of varying size in the library, each of which had its own expectations. The smaller tables were to have one or two people studying in tandem – three at the most. Those tables tended to be along walls or tucked into alcoves; out of sight of the general passerby.

The larger tables were situated with easy access, room enough for five or more to work with elbow room to spare. Due to their size the larger tables were towards the center of the library. Since it didn't have a door, any passing student with a wandering eye could look in and snoop at what was going on.

Were one such person to pass by and indulge their curiosity, they would see a tall, handsome Ravenclaw descending into madness. At least, that's how Harry felt. He'd taken over the biggest table he could find and peppered it with rolls of parchment, reference books, and copies of old newspapers. What he was doing was trying to find _any _hint what his little brother would have to face in that arena.

Which was what the old newspapers were for. Granted, it was something of a leap, but he'd figured that an even as important as a competition between _the _three schools in Europe would merit at least some mention in the _Daily Prophet_. And he was right...

Mostly.

Oh, it wasn't that they neglected the tournament, but there was a direct correlation between where the tournament was being held and the level of detail in each edition. Prejudiced? Yes. Predictable? Yes. Willfully unhelpful? _Oh, yes. _So far what he'd learned was that the editor between 1890 and 1922 had an enormous hate boner for the French and that Durmstrang's champion had nearly been beaten to death by an enraged demiguise.

"So," he tossed another paper aside and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Not for the first time... "apart from nothing, what have we learned?"

Well...

He'd learned that in the last thousand years, there had been seven Triwizard Tournaments. In each one there was always one death, and at least one disfiguring injury. He'd learned that the events itself were almost unimportant despite their extreme danger. The intrigue, political maneuvering, and string of near international incidents that _surrounded _these events seemed to be far more...valued.

His original intent; to glean some kind of clue as to what creature Ben would be up against, was useless. The Committees changed the nature of tasks so often and so arbitrarily that it seemed that even _they _didn't know how a task was going to turn out until it started. Sometimes, like with the cockatrice in 1648, not even then.

Which, to sum up, meant that the last _three hours _he'd spent in this dark, musty, smelly, dust-filled depressing cave of a library had been almost _completely_ useless. He growled and felt an overpowering urge to light something on fire. Which he resisted, because Madame Pince would have his eggs in a vice if he so much as looked wrong at her precious books. So he dropped his forehead to the table and groaned; a low, long sound. What he needed right now was a change of scene.

The proper thing to do at that point would be clean up after himself. But after three fruitless hours he could honestly care less. He cast around for his robe, finding it under the table, and was shrugging it on to leave when something changed his mind.

The Keeper of the Library.

The Watcher in the Stacks.

Madame Pince.

She came out of the shadows, hilariously unused feather duster in hand, and took in the scene before her. Harry's mind reverted to a guilty six year old and rendered him unable to do anything but shift his weight and stare at his feet. "I hope," Pince said in her deceptively kind voice, "that you weren't going to leave _me _to clean up this mess."

"Wasn't." he mumbled. Pince stared at him down the length of her nose before nodding and vanishing back into the depths of her lair. At which point his brain remembered that no, he wasn't six, he was actually seventeen, and he should probably clean up after himself.

Five minutes later he smacked himself in the forehead. _Are you a wizard, or not, Harry?_ He was, so thirty seconds later the newspapers were stacked, the parchments vanished, and the table spotless. He grinned, redid his tie, and left. But he didn't get far before running into someone.

Used as a phrase, that isn't too bad. Lamentably, Harry's run-in was more literal and left him rubbing his forehead, peering through watery eyes to see whose head he'd collided with. When he blinked the tears away and saw who it was, he felt an immediate and urgent desire to go back into the library and never leave. Who he had run into had short, white-blonde hair and blue eyes.

Yeah. He'd just headbutted Fleur Delacour.

_Smooth, buddy, _a laughing inner voice said.

_Shut up, _he told it. To Fleur, he said, "Sorry," and hoped she'd think it was as funny as someone off to his right did. There was a brief, stomach-dropping pause and she was in his personal space, so close he could feel the warmth of her. He quite forgot about laughter at the next thing he felt; her fingers on his forehead, gently tracing the bruise that no doubt mirrored the one on her own.

The air felt thick, his face warm. His heart was doing interesting dances on his ribcage. He wasn't sure, Healer training wasn't in Hogwarts' curriculum, but the signs were there. Either their budding friendship had a bevy of other, _stronger _feelings attached he wasn't ready for or sure how to handle.

Or...

He had a concussion. The jury was still out.

* * *

"Are you all right, Harry?" Fleur asked. Somewhere in the possibly-concussed depths of his mind, he realized something was wrong.

"Shouldn't –" he squeaked. _Come on!_ He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Fleur chuckled, a warm, entirely too appealing sound. She lowered her hand but made no move to step away. This close he could see that her blue eyes had flecks of a darker shade, and that she seemed more interested in his lips than his forehead. "If you like."

Now what did that mean? And why did he care? Furthermore, since when did three words have more than one meaning? He told himself to buck up, she was clearly okay with it, and lifted one of his own hands. Framed against her face it looked gigantic, rough, inelegant, when he knew for a fact they were none of those things.

Under the pads of his fingers her skin – as it had in the garden – felt like silk. The bruise on her forehead, surrounded by pale skin, stood out in a stark contrast. "Well?" he prompted, after the heavy silence had dragged on for _far _too long. "Are you?"

Her lips lifted at the corners. "I think I'll survive."

"Good." he scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit that he needed to lock down. "So...what were you doing before I concussed us?"

"Looking for you, actually."

_Oh? _"You were? What for?"

Pink tinged her cheeks. "I need a reason?"

"It'd be nice, yeah."

"Well..." she shrugged inelegantly. Somehow. "I wanted to see how you and Ben were handling things, but things have been a little crazy."

Harry nodded. "Preaching to the choir. Um – " he looked up the hall, then down over her shoulder. "I don't really want to talk about it here. Or at all, but... do you mind if we go somewhere else?"

"Anywhere in particular?" she asked quietly.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, "How about the garden?"

The last time he was there was when he'd met Fleur. He found himself wanting to go back for any number of reasons. He needed the peace it provided, true, but he also found himself wanting to share the garden with her. The reason why escaped him, but the desire remained. A desire that Fleur evidently shared, given her warm smile and dancing eyes.

"Sounds perfect." she looped her arm around his. "Lead the way."

As they left, an unnoticed Roger stood there, jaw wide open. It took him several moments to form a coherent thought or indeed any thought at all, and when he finally managed it, what came out was, "_That's _what she thinks gentle is?"

* * *

"Hey, Ron, can we talk?"

No response. Ben stood at his best friend's shoulder and watched him refuse to lift his head from the table. Maybe the common room wasn't the best place to do this, but Ben couldn't find him anywhere else.

"Ron." he tried again. "Please."

Ron looked up and he recoiled at the look of indifference in his eyes. "What could we have to talk about, Potter?"

_Potter_. That stung. No, it _cut_. Deeply. Anger swelled around the wound, soothing the pain his friend was causing him. He ground his teeth and dug his fingernails into his palm. "Is that how it's going to be?" he demanded. "You're just going to forget everything you know about me and believe the rumor, which has – to be generous – _never _gotten it right?"

Ron showed some emotion then. Oddly enough, it lifted Ben's spirits. Anything was better than that cold indifference. Anger, strong enough to mirror his own, flashed in Ron's eyes as he stood to tower over him. "What do you want me to believe, _Ben_?" he snarled. "That this just..._happened _to you?"

"Yes!" Ben shouted. "That's exactly what I want you to think, because _that's what happened!_ I didn't want this, Ron!"

"You did!" Ron shouted. He recoiled at the sudden volume, the sudden _hurt _in Ron's eyes. "You always do! You say you don't want to be famous, or – or rich, but you are! You have everything, and now you have _this_ too!"

Ben's heart went cold. Dimly he was aware of others; spectators in the stands going as quiet and pale as fallen snow. His anger turned, changing to quiet, _vengeful _thing. The air around him shimmered, and in the small, wounded corner of his heart he could feel the tears coursing down his face. "I have everything?" his voice was low and toneless. "Is that what you really think?" he laughed, a cold, flinch-inducing sound. "I have _nothing_, Ron. My _fame _is build on the bones of my family and the ashes of my home. I would give everything, down to my life, for that not to be true. I would die, _gladly_, to have even a tenth of what you have. The _only _things I have, all that keeps me sane, are you, Hermione, and Harry. I..."

He growled in his throat and saw through blurred eyes Ron's face. The anger had vanished and left behind a sickened realization of what he'd just said. What he'd just done. Ben looked at his former friend and thought about what he'd just lost. It was too much. So he left. He turned, snatched his cloak from the chair behind him, and left the common room. He stumbled blindly through the halls until he felt the cold bite of winter on his face. Then he scrubbed his eyes, tucked his cloak tighter around himself, and set off for the lake.

* * *

"How's Ben taking all of this?" Fleur asked. She still had her arm wrapped in his and the only thing keeping her from taking his hand was the absolute certainty that her hand was sweaty. Now, her relationship experience wasn't a lot, but she was pretty sure that Harry would think it was gross. Even if he didn't, she would. So she contented herself with holding onto his arm and enjoying the warmth of him on her side.

Harry took a moment to answer. "Not well." he rubbed the back of his ear with his free hand. "But he's dealing. This whole thing with Ron isn't helping."

So it wasn't just her. "I noticed some..."

"Hostility? Envy? Overt idiocy?"

"Resentment." she said, smiling at his last suggestion. "When I spoke to him earlier."

"You talked to Ron?" Harry's surprise registered in a misstep, leading to a wince that brought the question of his leg back to the forefront of her mind. "What for?"

"Hm? Oh, I was looking for you."

"Ah." Was it just her imagination, or were his ears red? They passed a sconce and no, she wasn't seeing things. Harry's ears were red and if she didn't know better, she'd say he was embarrassed. It was a cute look on him. Her opinion was as far from biased as it could get, but she had yet to find a look on him she didn't like. "I never said congratulations."

"What for?" her lips twitched at the subject change. They turned a corner onto a familiar corridor. She could see the garden's entrance about fifty feet down.

"Being your school's champion. I know it meant a lot to you."

It was her turn to go red. Unlike him, her blush wasn't limited to her ears. It started there and spread down through her cheeks to her neck. She caught him following its progress out of the corner of her eye and felt immensely – and irrationally – pleased. He looked away and she pretended not to have caught him. "Thank you," she said. "I'm looking forward to it."

They entered the garden. The last time she was there it was night, and as beautiful as it was in the moonlight, she couldn't really see the place. Now it was after noon, and the pale winter sun showed her that her first thought of the place, its beauty, was more than accurate. The flowers weren't in bloom, but she could easily imagine the place in spring. Rosebushes in the planters blooming red. Ivy climbing the iron arches.

She could see why Harry fell in love with this place. She was starting to as well.

Harry limped to the bench she'd occupied last time and sank onto it with a grateful sigh. She sat next to him, maybe closer than he was expecting, but she was sure he wouldn't say anything. For a few minutes silence reigned. She took comfort from it and Harry's being right next to her. For a brief, utterly insane moment, she wished it was night. It would be colder, and she'd have an excuse to cuddle up to him. "Can I ask you something?" she asked.

He chuckled next to her and oh so casually draped an arm over her shoulders. She hid her smile by ducking her head. Subtlety, thy name was _not _Harry. He didn't even pretend to yawn. "Feel free." he echoed her words from earlier.

"It's a personal question." she felt a weird obligation to warn. He went still for a long minute – she was pretty sure he didn't even breathe. She tensed, too, worrying that she'd ruined something or everything.

"Go ahead," he said quietly. She relaxed for a moment before noticing that he hadn't. This was a leap of faith on his part, she realized. Roger had been right, he either trusted her or was starting to and that meant...more than she knew how to express. She tucked her head into his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist.

"What happened to your leg?"

* * *

Harry sighed. He supposed it had only been a matter of time before she asked him that. To his surprise and confusion and a little bit of fear, he found himself strangely willing to tell her the story. He hadn't told _anyone_ the story. Ben told Roger and Alexis...actually, he didn't know how Alexis found out. But Fleur...

Fleur he wanted to tell. He wanted her to know. He hugged her to him with the arm around her shoulders and felt hers around his waist tighten briefly. In the back of his mind he recognized that she knew _exactly _what she was asking him. So he took a deep breath and told her everything.

"It was Ben's first year here. He had made friends with Ron on the train up, and met Hermione there as well. The way Ben tells it, she was something of a bossy swot when they first met, and Ron had nothing against telling her that. Repeatedly, as it turned out, but I didn't know that at the time.

Hermione had thicker skin than the boys gave her credit for, and she didn't react to Ron until Halloween. I still don't know what exactly happened before dinner that day, and I honestly don't care, but Ron and Ben showed up for dinner, and Hermione didn't. Ben would later tell me that it wasn't unusual for her to miss meals because she was studying or something.

The Halloween feast was extravagant. I'm not kidding when I say that food was piled half a foot deep on platters. There were sweets I'd never heard of on the tables and Hagrid' pumpkins were the size of ponies. I remember Dumbledore wearing an enchanted jack o'lantern for a hat. The place was noisy, _really _noisy, and I was getting a headache. By the time I'd had enough and gotten up to leave, something weird happened.

Professor Quirrel – the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – sprints into the hall, yells something about a troll, and passes out. Falls flat on his face. To say what would follow was mayhem would be an understatement. Kids went _berserk_. I remember the Hufflepuff first years trying to turn over their table for some reason. Malfoy, I think you met him, wet himself and hid under the table for two hours.

Next thing I know Ben's running up to me, Ron on his heels. 'Hermione doesn't know about the troll!' he yells, and suddenly we're running to the nearest girl's loo. You know, that's the last time I remember running? Anyway, we smelled the damn thing before we saw it. It was about fifteen foot tall, the color of a booger, and three times as ugly. Had a club I'm pretty was just a tree torn out of the ground.

Boy Genius and my brother lock it into the first room it goes into, which is the girl's bathroom. Yeah, the one with Hermione in it, because of course it was. So we charge in there; two first years and a fourth year. Between the three of us we know maybe four offensive spells. By itself the troll could kill us all.

So we break through the door and see Hermione cowering by the sinks. The troll's advancing on her and I yell at the boys to get its attention while I get her out of there. They start throwing stuff at it, pipes and bits of stalls it had destroyed, and I try to get her to do anything but sit there and scream.

Next thing I know I wake up in the hospital wing a week later. The troll had taken a swing at Hermione, and – I don't remember doing this – but I shoved her out of the way and taken the hit. I'd heard of Skele-gro. I knew wizards could grow bones back, but what I didn't know is that you can't make something from nothing. And nothing was what was left of my leg.

The troll had pulverised the bones, turned them to dust. Madame Pomfrey did her best, and the Healers from St. Mungo's managed to grow the bones back but...they weren't the same. Not as strong. So from the whole thing Ben got two new friends, and I got a busted leg and the hero worship of an eleven year old girl.

I used to get so angry when I collapsed. My leg took a long time to get strong enough for me to walk for any length of time on it. But after a while I just accepted it. It still hurts when its cold out and I can't run or turn very quickly, but...I saved someone's life. I'd have given a lot more than a leg to see that happen."

Harry's throat was dry when he finished talking. Beside him Fleur had not said a word the entire time. He had no idea what would happen now. Would she run? Would she laugh? Would she tell him he was an idiot and to leave her alone? His stomach churned. He'd known Fleur for all of a few weeks, but he didn't want that.

Soft lips on his cheek and warm breath in his ear, followed by quiet, tender words. "Thank you for telling me."

* * *

Sometime in the past minute or so it had started snowing. It fell onto his head and shoulders, aging him into a sad old man sitting on a rock. He didn't know why Ron's words were hurting him so much, he'd gone into that knowing what was likely to happen. He'd started from the knowledge that Ron honestly believed that he had entered himself into the Tournament. He'd known that, and it still hurt.

It was hope, he supposed, that kept from believing his best friend had turned his back on him. Hope that he'd _seen_ what the three of them had gone through for the past three years and would know by now. Ben had hoped that Ron had known him better than to think he would do something like this. The truth was that now more than ever he needed his friends. And now it looked like he had one less.

Out in the snow he remembered his friendship with Ron and mourned its loss. Until she came and led him back to the castle, took him to the kitchens, and didn't say a word. In his heart, another chain holding his Secret broke and fell away.

* * *

**Note: First chapter in the new year. W00t. Anyway, thanks to everyone who continues to read, review, and favorite this little project of mine. I insist that you continue to do so. Unless, of course, you have no soul. Soulless people can do whatever comes to mind. Even if its reading, reviewing, and favoriting this little project of mine.**

**And no, 'favoriting' isn't a word. I made it one. **


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